


A Commotion In The Firmament

by LaughingGas



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Dinosaurs, M/M, Mad Science, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:52:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingGas/pseuds/LaughingGas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In time-honoured tradition, the Enterprise is dispatched on a peaceful diplomatic mission. In equally time-honoured tradition, said 'peace' comes crumbling round their ears within seconds of arrival. Now with added dinosaurs!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Commotion In The Firmament

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by tawg - many thanks!
> 
> Written for the Sci-Fi Big Bang Challenge, meaning there is [art and a mix](http://creepylicious.livejournal.com/59776.html) for it by creepylicious.

Jim often wondered if the Enterprise had somehow ended up on Starfleet’s list of diplomatic vessels. As he pointed out to Spock, it was ridiculous that a ship built with so much firepower was kept confined to milk runs while older, weaker craft were sent to patrol the Neutral Zone. He suspected there were several high-ups who hated the fact that the ‘Fleet’s pride and joy had gone to a green cadet, and were using this period of inaction to either test his mettle, or force his resignation through sheer tedium.

 

Well. He’d show them. He’d gladly sit through a year’s worth of lectures on diplomatic protocol if it meant he got to captain his beautiful starship.

 

He sat up a little straighter in his chair and leaned forward slightly in an imitation of intense interest. Admiral Crossman was not very good at concealing his dislike of Jim and Jim enjoyed subverting his expectations.

 

“And remember, Kirk, the Vulcans are long-standing members of the Federation. The recent disaster on their home-planet in no way devalues them as a species. You will treat them with the respect befitting their contributions to the Federation. Do I make myself clear?”

 

Jim fought down the temptation to roll his eyes. He’d be fairly willing to bet that Crossman had never even met a Vulcan face to face, let alone spent the last few months working in close proximity to one. He was suddenly glad he’d taken the Admiral’s call in his quarters, rather than on the bridge – God only knew how Spock would react to their new orders.

 

“Understood, sir. I’ll have Commander Spock stand by to advise me of any cultural differences.”

 

Admiral Crossman squinted at him suspiciously, apparently unable to decide whether or not Jim was taking the piss.  Finally, he grunted. “Just you watch yourself, Kirk. Crossman out.”

 

As the Admiral’s image flickered off, Jim made an obscene gesture in the direction of the screen. “Up yours too, sir.” He pushed himself out of the chair and headed over to the door. He owed it to his first officer to give him the news before he called a general meeting.

 

~

 

“And I know I moan about the reports you and Uhura put together for me, but I did _pass_ my xenocultures class. I am _capable_ of diplomacy without Starfleet holding my hand.”

 

“I do not doubt it.”

 

Jim had chickened out of telling Spock the full extent of their orders, not wanting to see the familiar wall of blankness that came down every time the fate of Vulcan was mentioned. He’d skipped over the details in favour of venting his frustration with Crossman. Now, though, he felt somewhat guilty at his deception. He cleared his throat.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to rant. Actually, I came to see you about the new orders. I don’t know how much contact you have with the colony …” He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘New Vulcan’ – whose bright idea had that been? Oh yes, let’s remind people of what they’ve lost _every single time_ we refer to their planet. Fortunately, Spock was good at reading between the lines.

 

“I receive twice-monthly updates from my father,” he said.

 

Jim felt a little more hopeful. “So you already know about the proposal passed by the High Council?”

 

“I was aware that a petition had been made. I did not know it had been ratified.” Impossible to tell what he thought of the decision.

 

“Yesterday, I think. Starfleet wants to send us to Beta Kithara to sweet-talk the scientists.”

 

Spock nodded. When he spoke, it was slowly, as if weighing each word. “The proposal is eminently logical, if somewhat unexpected.”

 

“That’s what I thought too. Kind of radical, but I guess it must have made sense to a lot of people to get passed by the Council.”

 

“Yes. The events following the destruction of Vulcan -” Not ‘the Narada incident’, Jim noted. Not Starfleet’s careful euphemism, not what Crossman would have said.

 “- have forced us to think in new ways. The change is, I think, not entirely detrimental.”

 

“So you’re saying you… approve of the proposal?”

 

“You forget that I am a product of genetic engineering myself. What is proposed is no more a crime against Nature than my own conception was. Of course,” he added, with a wry lift of the eyebrow, “there are Vulcans who consider me an unnatural creature. No doubt there will be some opposition; it is inevitable.”

 

This seemed to Jim a good moment to draw the conversation to a close, but he hesitated. “Spock, would you mind if I asked a personal question?”

 

“You may ask, Captain. I cannot promise that I will be able to answer. I will not, however, ‘mind’.”

 

“Right. So, um, would you play chess with me tonight?”

 

Jim blinked. That had _not_ been what he’d meant to ask: _would you go through the Kithara Procedure?_ _Why is the High Council being so goddamned shifty?_ His brain must have tripped the safety cutout at the last minute, which was probably a good thing.

 

Spock raised his eyebrow at Jim’s non sequitur, but assented.

 

“Nineteen hundred suit you?” Jim could feel his face flushing. He barely waited for Spock’s “Affirmative,” before he was gabbling, “Excellent, yes, good, I’ll see you there then.”

 

He was out in the corridor before he realised he’d completely forgotten to mention the general meeting he’d be calling.

 

 _Pull yourself together, Jim,_ he told himself irritably. _You’re embarrassed that you_ didn’t _ask your first officer a horrendously personal question? The hell?_

The heat had faded from his face by the time he reached the ready room. He spent a few minutes making sure that all the computer terminals had a text-display version of their orders ready to go, then commed Uhura to request her presence along with the rest of his section heads.

 

They drifted into the room in ones and twos. There were a few minutes of grumbling while everyone dragged chairs about to get a view of the computer screens. Once the murmur of noise had died away, Jim stood up.

 

“As some of you no doubt know, or have worked out, our new orders came through today. They’re a direct result of the Vulcan High Council’s decision to authorise the Kithara Procedure, which means we’re due at Beta Kithara four days from now.”

 

As he paused for breath, Bones jumped in. “Now look here, Jim, not all of us get the Vulcan gossip rags. I don’t think I’m alone in saying I’d like a few details on this Kithara Procedure.”

 

A couple of heads nodded agreement. Jim drew in a breath, but Spock got in first.

 

“The scientists on Kithara are some of the best biologists in the quadrant. They specialise in genetics, but are masters of all techniques pertaining to the study of life. At present they are the only research institute pioneering a new method of creating living tissue from digital records, which is why the Federation has chosen to approach them.

 

“What is being called the ‘Kithara Procedure’ was first hypothesised by a croup of students at the Vulcan Science Academy, some years previously. Since Nero’s attack, more work has been done of the subject to bring it to a state where it is viable to put it into practice. Without going in to technicalities, the Procedure would utilise the brain scans from the medical records of those Vulcans who lost their lives in the attack to recreate the organic matter.”

 

Jim stared at him. His own orders hadn’t been half as detailed – all he’d been told about was a ‘revolution in medical science’. Then he remembered that Sarek sat on the High Council and Spock had no doubt persuaded him to forward all the technical papers to the Enterprise for a bit of light reading.

 

“They’re growing brains in jars? Really? I feel like I’m living in _The Man With Two Brains_ here.” Chekov shot Sulu a This Is Serious Business look and Sulu rearranged his expression of delight into one more appropriate for the funeral of a close relative.

 

“The scheme is an audacious one,” Spock acknowledged.

 

“But why do the Vulcans want to go ahead with it in the first place?” Bones asked.

 

Spock drew himself up slightly straighter, which Jim knew meant he was uncomfortable with the question. “For… various reasons related to Vulcan telepathy, it is necessary to attempt to preserve as much of the Vulcan collective consciousness as possible. Though far from ideal, the Kithara Procedure seems the only feasible solution.”

 

“Genetic engineering goes against the Federation’s charter and this sounds pretty damn borderline, Jim,” said Bones.

 

Jim shrugged. “Not really. They won’t be _changing_ anything, just… preserving what’s there. I don’t know, it all sounds like mad science to me, but if Spock’s in favour of it, that’s good enough for me.”

 

Spock threw him a look that Jim couldn’t interpret. Gratitude, he thought, and – puzzlement? Curiosity? Spock returned his gaze to Bones and said, “Many Vulcans feel as you do, Doctor. They say that it is better to continue with what we have than to cling to the few fragments of the past that remain.”

 

Bones still looked sceptical, but Jim pressed on before he could voice his misgivings. “We’re to be accompanied by a delegation of Vulcans to help us persuade the Kitharans to play ball, so there’ll be a rendezvous with the Ha’kiv at a small moon in the Jutta region. I’ll patch the co-ordinates through to the bridge as soon as this meeting’s over.”

“Wait a second, ‘persuade’? You mean they haven’t actually agreed to this?”

 

“Not as such, no,” Jim admitted. “Beta Kithara’s pretty far out and they haven’t been responding to any of the subspace messages Starfleet’s been sending. Hence, us.”

 

“No’ responding, Captain?” That was Scotty, leaning forward, his face bright with interest. “There shouldnae be a problem getting the message _out_ there. Even the old receiver models’d be capable of picking it up.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. If everything’s all right out there, why aren’t they responding? Possible scenarios: one, severe structural damage to their subspace arrays; two, some sort of interference field blocking our messages from getting through and theirs from getting out -”

 

“Three, they’re ignoring us.”

 

“Fair point, Bones, but why? It’s not like Starfleet’s going to strong-arm them into doing anything they don’t want to. They’re not even full Federation members and they don’t seem to want to be either, so it’s not like we can hold that over them.”

 

“There is a fourth, more serious possibility. The Kithara system lies only half a dozen light years outside the Klingon Empire. In the disruption following Nero’s attack on Earth, the invasion of such an insignificant system could have gone unnoticed. It would explain the lack of communication.”

 

“Nice to know our first officer’s so optimistic.” McCoy was apparently unable to resist the dig.

 

Jim waved a warning hand in his direction, thinking hard. “Actually… I’d have thought we’d have had _more_ communication with Kithara if the Klingons _were_ trying to conceal an attack. I mean, if they wanted to divert suspicion, they could easily have faked up some voice-only transmissions to keep Starfleet happy, right?”

 

“Agreed. However, given Starfleet’s primary reason for contacting Kithara was to arrange a face-to-face meeting, the Klingons may have hoped to avoid this by ignoring the communiqués.”

 

“You’re both aware that we’re only dealing with hypothetical Klingons here, right? Simplest explanation’s probably the best: the Kitharans got their communicator technology in a snarl-up.”

 

“Uhura, how likely is that?”

 

“Subspace anomalies are hardly unheard of, Captain.”

 

Jim winced. Uhura had an amazing knack for addressing her captain like a particularly slow first-grader. She used it less frequently these days, but on the occasions when she did, it was enough to make Jim’s toes curl with embarrassment. Call it a personal failing, but he’d never wanted to be just ‘The Captain’, impersonal as a computer interface. He _liked_ his crew, wanted to look after them to a degree that scared him sometimes, and he hoped he was liked in return. Uhura’s I Am Talking To An _Idiot_ voice brought back unpleasant memories of fights in shitty little bars and of the person he’d been before Starfleet and Pike and Bones and Spock and the Enterprise adopted him in their weird, occasionally messed up ways.

 

Not that he’d ever admit any of that, of course. He said, “I realise that, but to knock out an entire colony for a month?”

 

“It could be due to any number of factors: ion storms, magnetic interference, deliberate jamming. There’s no real way to know for sure until we reach the colony.”

 

And by the time they did, the Enterprise would be stuck in the whatever-it-was too. Jim scowled. He hated flying blind, not that the universe appeared to care much for his objections.

 

They’d barely made it a week out of spacedock before Starfleet’s charts were failing them.

 

~

 

The sensors are down due to some technical malfunction that, yeah, Scotty explains to him, but this is also while the main computer console’s doing a passable imitation of a firework display. Uhura rigs up some form of echo-location using the communications station, which is insanely brilliant of her, and Jim’s secretly planning to sweet-talk her into telling him how she did it so he can use it later, because at the moment he’s sat on his ass in the centre chair being fuck all help to anybody.

 

They beam down anyway, because his crew is just that good, but there’s nothing left of the desert cities so eloquently described in the pathetic excuse for background information that Starfleet provided. Instead, they’re jumped half a kilometre out from the beam-down point and carted off to the jumble of stones that Spock informs him used to be the main city on this continent.

 

No one seems to want to hurt the crew, just for Starfleet to take their requests for aid seriously. When Jim explains about the ship basically being dead in the vacuum, the Ydri start to scowl and mutter unpleasant things that they don’t think he can understand. (He can’t, but he’s always been quick at reading body language, besides which, Uhura is whispering a slightly stilted translation in his ear of the more impressive insults. Jim thinks she might be committing a few to memory.)

 

Everyone takes turns trying to convince the Ydri that they really would love to help (and really, no one looking at this world, crumbling away under a civil war gone nuclear, could want to do otherwise), but that they really can’t do anything until Scotty manages to fix up whatever’s eating the Enterprise. Eventually, the Ydri lose patience and lock them all in a small stone room far, far underground.

 

Two hours later, Spock is unconscious.

 

Jim’s still frantically checking vital signs when Lieutenant Varoy clutches her head and lets out a keening wail. It’s enough to give Jim the clue – Varoy is Agonian, with a brand of telepathy similar to Vulcan. He begs and bullies the Ydri into giving Spock and Varoy access to a meditation room until both are able to sit up and talk once more.

 

Spock explains. The Ydri are mildly telepathic, but without the fine control that most races with more pronounced telepathy learn to exert. The Ydri aren’t bothered by the way one person’s feelings are taken up by everyone – it’s all they’ve known – but for Spock and Varoy, the onslaught of rage and fear that soaks through the very atmosphere of the planet is too much.

 

Luckily for all of them, Scotty is a fucking miracle worker. In twenty-one hours, he has all the essential systems up and running on board the Enterprise, and shortly after, the Ydri receive Starfleet’s assurance of an aid ship to arrive within a week.

 

Back on the ship, Spock insists on doing his shift, then retreats to his quarters and doesn’t emerge for fifteen hours. Jim knows he’s not sleeping, but he’s locked his door. Jim could, of course, override this, but he figures Spock has his reasons and also remembers how much he used to hate people asking him if he was okay after a fight. He doesn’t get that anymore – Bones just yells at him and calls him an idiot (despite the fact that very, very few of the fights Jim gets into these days are in any way his fault), which is altogether much to be preferred.

 

So Spock’s door stays shut and Jim doesn’t know whether he’s done his duty by his friend or not, because some people have a magic sixth sense that tells them when they’re doing the right thing, but not Jim, which, on reflection, could explain a lot.

 

~

 

But they’d pulled through somehow, and no doubt would continue to do so, because as Jim was fond of pointing out to whoever was issuing the insane orders of the moment, his ship, his crew, were beyond brilliant.

 

~

 

“Captain Kirk.”

 

Jim groaned quietly to himself. Only two days since their rendezvous with the Ha’kiv and he was already trying to hide behind bulkheads to avoid the diplomatic party. He was pretty sure this sort of behaviour wasn’t sanctioned in the Captain’s Handbook.

 

He took a deep breath, pasted a smile on his face and turned to greet the man who’d called out to him.

 

“Ambassador Suvat. Can I be of assistance?” _Please, say no. Please._

 

“Indeed. I would welcome the opportunity to expand my knowledge to encompass the workings of a starship.”

 

“Would you like me to find someone to take you on a tour?”

 

“Would not the captain make the most omniscient guide?”

 

 _Look, Spock may like long words, but that’s because he’s_ Spock. You _on the other hand are using them as an intellectual bludgeon._ Jim felt his friendly smile slip a bit and hitched it back into place. “Very probably, although my section heads know their areas better than I could ever hope to.”

 

“If you are not busy…”

 

 _I am._ “Not at all. It would be my pleasure.”

 

There was something about the Ambassador, Jim decided as they fell into step, that just rubbed him up the wrong way. Most of the diplomatic party were friendly enough, in a reserved, Vulcan sort of way. Suvat’s behaviour, on the other hand, swung between icy superiority and an almost pathetic eagerness to ingratiate himself with Jim. In a human, it would have been a bit odd. In a Vulcan, it was downright unnerving.

 

He also seemed to have an uncanny ability to find Jim at the most awkward of moments – like now, for instance, when he’d absolutely promised Bones, hand-shook on it and everything, to share a drink after shift and listen to him bemoan the fact that no one appreciated a simple country doctor anymore. Ah well, couldn’t be helped. Perhaps he’d be able to foist Suvat off on Spock – no doubt they’d find some fascinating area of shared interest.

 

With this in mind, he bent his steps towards the labs on Deck Five. Spock’s Science Squad (he made a mental note to tell Bones that one later) was currently working on something to do with binary star systems that involved rather pretty simulations.

 

By peering through each of the observation windows in turn, he eventually found Spock in Lab Three, making notes on what looked like a child’s mobile. Two orange spheres floated a foot or so above the workbench, circled by glowing specks of light representing planets. At the sound of the door shutting behind Jim, Spock laid aside his padd and turned to greet them.

 

“Hey, Spock.”

 

“Good evening, Captain. Ambassador.” He nodded politely to both of them before turning back to his work.

 

Jim bit his lip. Every other time he’d visited the lab, Spock had barely waited for him to get through the door before he started expounding on his results. That he wasn’t doing so today was…unsettling. Jim could only attribute it to the Ambassador’s presence.

 

“Spock’s studying the way binary systems warp the space-time around them,” he said, trying to catch the Ambassador’s interest. When this got no more than the barest nod of acknowledgement, he continued: “The implications for the future of warp drive technology could be enormous, so Spock tells me.”

 

No one said anything. Jim resisted the urge to run his fingers through his hair in frustration. It was like being back in high school all over again, he thought, only with less name-calling and more awkward silences.

 

“Okay, then,” he said, more to defuse the situation than anything else. “We’ll go take a look at the Engineering section and let Spock get back to his science. Ambassador Suvat, after you.”

 

He waved the Ambassador through the doors and shot Spock a look that he hoped managed to convey his utter bewilderment, mixed with the resentment he felt towards Suvat, mixed with general curiosity as to just what the hell was going on. Spock arched one elegant eyebrow in response. Jim hoped that meant _Tell you later_.

 

To his relief, Scotty was brimming over with enthusiasm to discuss all thing Engineering. Jim wasn’t sure quite _how_ the engineer had managed to hustle the Ambassador away without actually touching him, but he was more than willing to appreciate the results. Letting Scotty’s voice fade into the distance, he slumped against a bulkhead, feeling the powerful thrum of the engines underneath. He settled back and shut his eyes, imagining his heartbeat shifting to match the engines’ pulse.

 

The Enterprise. His Enterprise.

 

If he’d thought Suvat appreciated a starship as anything more than duranium hulls and dilithium crystals, he’d have revelled in the chance to show off the Enterprise’s beauty. And yet…

 

He was still trying to figure out just what it was about the Ambassador that bothered him so much when Scotty returned. He was still talking nineteen to the dozen, but Jim noted with a small smile that Suvat was looking stony-faced even by Vulcan standards. Jim got to his feet.

 

“Ah, Ambassador. Did Mr Scott explain everything to you?”

 

“Indeed. He was most informative.”

 

As they left, Jim gave Scotty a swift thumbs-up behind the Ambassador’s back. Scotty winked and gave him a mock salute in return.

 

“Is there anywhere else you’d like to visit, sir?”

 

“If you will accompany me to my quarters, that will be quite sufficient, thank you, Captain.”

 

Suvat swept away down the corridor, and Jim was forced to lengthen his strides to keep up.

 

“If there’s a problem with your quarters, I’m sure Maintenance can-”

 

“There is no problem. I simply wish a private conference with you, Captain.”

 

“What about?” Jim said and frowned. That had come out more abruptly than he’d intended.

 

“It would be prudent to wait until we reach my quarters.”

 

Jim heaved a small sigh that was lost in the swish of the turbolift doors.

 

~

 

“I wish to speak with you on the subject of our mission to Kithara.”

 

The Ambassador’s quarters were at least twice the size of Jim’s own, with an anteroom large enough to hold two small couches. It was on one of these that the Ambassador now sat, his austere robes out of place against the soft, bright fabrics. He made a courteous gesture towards the other couch and Jim hesitated.

 

Sitting down would imply that the meeting was going to be a long one, something he’d hoped to avoid. Then again, if the Ambassador was hell-bent on discussing their mission, brevity was probably out of the question. Reluctantly, Jim sat.

 

“Ambassador, I’d have thought you know more about it than I do. We’ve had no contact with the Vulcan High Council, only what Starfleet has relayed to us.”

 

Jim noticed he was slipping automatically into a more formal style of speaking. Spock’s influence, he supposed. Not that it didn’t have its uses, what with the number of diplomatic missions that were pushed their way.

 

“It is true that I have a better understanding of what the Kithara project represents to our people than any off-worlder ever could. It is for that reason that I must tell you: I do not believe it is the solution to my people’s problems.”

 

The Ambassador leaned forward until his chin rested on steepled hands. Jim could feel his eyes widening in surprise.

 

“You mean you’ve been sent to plead a case you don’t even believe in?”

 

“Indeed. There are few enough who hold the rank of Ambassador, fewer still who are not off-world at present. And only one able to be spared on such a mission as this.”

 

His lips tightened briefly and Jim thought, _So_ that’s _why you’re here: the Vulcans don’t much care for you either, and I bet that makes you mad. Vulcans don’t have feelings, my ass._

Aloud, he said, “But surely you realise the potential benefits?”

 

“I believe that my people have no need to resort to such undignified methods to preserve our race. What good is it to increase in number if in doing so we lose what makes us truly Vulcan?”

 

Jim’s instinctive reaction was to call bullshit. Casting around for a more diplomatic phrasing, he said, “But will you, though? I remember something my first officer told me when we were talking about the Kithara project. He said that Nero’s attack has forced people to think in ‘new ways’. He doesn’t believe the project will destroy your culture.”

 

“Mr Spock -” Jim thought he caught a trace of something mocking in the name. “- is something of an anomaly among Vulcans.”

 

“Yes, I’ve gathered that your people didn’t exactly take to the idea of hybrids.” Jim really hoped Suvat couldn’t hear the irritation in his voice – no need to provoke a diplomatic incident in his first year of captaincy. “But still, in this case, it seems you’re the odd one out. The motion to approach the Kitharans was passed with a substantial majority.”

 

Suvat inclined his head. “True. And you need not be alarmed that my personal beliefs will impair my ability to do my duty. I shall merely present the facts. What will be will be.”

 

And that, it seemed, was that, not that Jim was happy about it by any stretch.

 

At liberty once more, Jim headed for medbay, only to find that, judging by the absence of both Bones and Nurse Chapel and by the meaningful eyebrow waggling he got when he asked, at least one person onboard did indeed appreciate simple country doctors.

 

The chronometer read eighteen twenty-five. Jim bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet, still twitchy after his talk with Ambassador Suvat. He tried to repress the feeling; starship captains shouldn’t get _twitchy_ over a little thing like finding out your allies weren’t necessarily even in the same choir, let alone singing from the same hymn sheet. He realised his fingers were tapping out an offbeat rhythm against the side of his leg and stilled them irritably. He needed distraction.

 

In short order, he considered and rejected his quarters, the bridge, and the gym.

 

It was with a certain sense of inevitability that he found himself outside Spock’s door five minutes later.

 

“I know I’m a bit early, but I thought if you’re free…” That was when he noticed the impressive stack of padds on Spock’s desk. “You’re working, I’ll come back later,” he said hastily.

 

“That will not be necessary, Captain.” Spock rose and began transferring the padds to an open bag at the side of the desk. Jim hastened to help.

 

“What are all these? Surely you can’t have gotten this much data from your simulations?”

 

“My scientific notes are still in the laboratory. These are the crew reports.”

 

“Oh _God_ , I’d been trying to forget about them. Six months already?”

 

“Five months and twenty-three days. I have allowed a week for you to read over the reports and make any alterations you see fit.”

 

“You spoil me, really you do. My life wouldn’t have been complete without the delights of crew reports to look forward to.”

 

“It seems to me highly illogical to become a starship captain when one of the position’s most time-consuming duties is so abhorrent to you,” Spock remarked.

 

Jim tossed the last padd into the bag and grinned. “Wow, Spock, we really are infecting you with our human ways if you’re picking up on sarcasm now.”

 

Spock fixed his eyes on a point over Jim’s left shoulder as he replied, “I do not believe I would term it an ‘infection’.”

 

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

 

“I shall endeavour to keep from forming a habit, then, as it disturbs you so much.”

 

“Thank you, Mr Spock,” Jim said gravely. And he really did think he saw, as Spock turned away to fetch the chess set, the corners of Spock’s mouth twitch. Just a little.

 

A private corner of his brain began letting off celebratory fireworks.

 

~

 

Jim watched his last rook fall and heaved a mournful sigh. Chess with Spock was one of the few things that required his utmost attention, and with half his mind still formulating possible outcomes from his meeting with Suvat, he was, to put it bluntly, getting his ass handed to him.

 

Spock had noticed.

 

“You appear troubled, Captain,” he said delicately.

 

“Really?”

 

“Indeed.” There was an expectant silence. Spock added, “That was intended as an indication that I am willing to listen. I believe the Human expression would be, ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved’.”

 

Jim waved a hand dismissively. “It’s probably nothing.” He moved a pawn, barely glancing at the board. Then, abruptly: “Well, no. Did you know the High Council’s sent Suvat to _assist with the diplomatic process_ , or however our orders put it, when he’s adamantly opposed to the whole idea?”

 

“I was not aware of the fact, though I do not perceive any future difficulties arising from it.”

 

“Spock! I know it’d be _illogical_ for Suvat to let his own feelings influence his actions, but you really don’t see any problem with it? It’s not like you can tell me Vulcans don’t _have_ feelings.”

 

In the brief pause that followed, Jim debated apologising for that last remark. Neither of them had managed a frank discussion of the Bridge Incident, and Jim had convinced himself that picking away the emotional scar tissue surrounding it would do more to hurt whatever they had between them than simply leaving it be. He was about to open his mouth when Spock spoke.

 

“That is correct. However, Suvat has greater skill at suppressing his emotions that I am ever likely to attain. I repeat: I foresee no problems.”

 

Spock’s voice had become more distant, more Vulcan. Jim bit the inside of his lip. _Well done, Jim. He offers to listen to your problems and you go remind him of how you_ emotionally compromised _him. Way to go._

“Look, Spock, I shouldn’t have said that. My mouth tends to leave my brain out of the decision-making process sometimes.”

 

“I accept that you still harbour anger towards me for my actions.”

 

“What? No! _I’m_ sorry for what happened. I provoked you, it’s hardly your fault for reacting.”

 

“It is apparently obvious to all that I cannot control my emotions sufficiently.” Spock’s tones were full of ice.

 

“ _Fuck_. That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Jim let out a long breath. He realised he’d been gripping a bishop hard enough to leave ridges in his palm. Carefully, he set it upright on the board, not looking at Spock until he was done. “As far as I’m concerned, we’re _even_. We’re a team now, and I don’t want to screw that up just because I’m an idiot who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

 

The seconds dragged by. Jim resisted the urge to bite his lip again.

 

Finally, Spock nodded, swiftly, imperceptibly. Jim thought he read an apology in the dark gaze, though for what he couldn’t be sure.

 

They played on, the awkward silence of having run out of words gradually shifting to one in which there was simply no need to speak. The heat and the quiet, broken only by the rustle of fabric and the click of the chess pieces, began to wrap itself around Jim like a blanket

 

~

 

After Ydriss, there comes a long spell of what the captain refers to as ‘milk runs’. Spock finds this in some respects preferable, as he gets to work on his experiments without the constant interruption of a red alert, but in others quite appallingly tedious. He reflects that his father may have been right; Starfleet has turned him into a being who prefers meeting the galaxy head-on to the more proper, Vulcan pursuit of sitting and considering it from a distance. He finds that he does not regret the change, though he is certain this would be labelled as further evidence of his increasing illogic.

 

On the sixth day out from Illyria 4, the captain invites Spock to join him at chess. Spock thinks he conceals his surprise well, but Kirk laughs and says, “Yeah, I know I don’t look much like the chess-playing type, but I won my share of matches at the Academy. Anyway, it’s fine if you’ve got, you know, science officer-type things to be doing. I’m just bored out my skull and thought it could pass the time.”

 

Despite Kirk’s diffidence, Spock has the feeling that committing to this chess game is somehow important. It is, of course, an entirely irrational supposition, based on an intuition he claims not to have, but he nevertheless is inclined to heed it.

 

When their shifts finish, he walks with Kirk to his quarters. While Kirk sets up the board, Spock looks around the room with curiosity. He has never been in the captain’s quarters before, nor has he devoted time to speculating on their contents, but he cannot help but be intrigued by the complete lack of personal mementoes. His experience of human culture has taught him the often-extravagant sentiment attached to insignificant objects, and yet the only items not strictly Starfleet-issue are a collection of polished rocks at one end of a shelf and a small printed photograph of a man, a woman, and a baby. Of course, there would be no images of the Kirk family as a whole, Spock reflects, feeling unexpectedly uncomfortable with the thought. He had not known Kirk had a brother.

 _Kirk watches his examination with amusement. “Does my room pass muster, Commander?”_

 _It is, of course, a perfectly adequate room for a starship captain, and Spock says so. Kirk bites his lip on a smile._

 _“So. Chess?”_

 _Some two point five four hours later, Spock is contemplating a board bereft of nearly all his white pieces. He considers his next move carefully, weighs up the probable outcomes, and shifts a rook down one level. Kirk grins widely at him from across the board._

 _“Are you sure you want to do that, Spock? I’ll let you take it back if you want.”_

 _Kirk’s playing style is one of the most frustrating Spock has yet encountered. He uses a combination of wild unpredictability and an assortment of tricks intended to, as he puts it, ‘psych out’ the opposition. Needless to say, they have little effect on Spock, yet it is curious that Kirk is besting him. He shakes his head sharply and leaves the rook where it is._

 _“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”_

 _With precise, deliberate clicks, Kirk moves his queen square by square until – “Checkmate.”_

 _Spock scans the board. Improbable as it seems, Kirk is quite correct. He raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps a rematch tomorrow night, Captain?”_

~

 

“Entering the Kitharan system, Captain. Dropping to half impulse.”

 

“Good work, Sulu. Any luck your end, Uhura?”

 

She shook her head. “Still broadcasting messages of peace and goodwill to all life-forms in every known language, sir. No response.”

 

“The Kithara system appears to exert a natural dampening field,” Spock put in. “My sensors show no interference patterns that would indicate a deliberate attempt at jamming. Indeed, they read nothing aside from the usual traces of background radiation and space debris.”

 

“The Kitharans’d be hard pushed to miss us at this range, Captain,” said Sulu.

 

Even as he finished speaking, Uhura slapped a hand to her ear and yanked out the earpiece. Giving it a look as though it had bitten her, she said, “I’m getting strong bursts of static. I’m just not sure where…” He hands danced over the console, pulling up new channels and closing off others, trying to isolate the signal. Finally, she turned to Jim. “It’s not being transmitted over the subspace, just over regular radio. _No one_ uses these frequencies for off-world communications anymore.”

 

Spock lifted an eyebrow. “Fascinating. It should be possible to compensate for the time-lag using the ship’s computers, if you copy the message to my station, Lieutenant.”

 

“Already on its way. If I could just get a lock on where on the planet it’s coming from, I might be able to boost the signal from up here.”

 

Catching sight of Jim frowning at the static, Spock observed, “It is highly improbable that you will decode the message with will power alone, Captain.”

 

Jim shrugged. “Can’t hurt to try.” Spock gave him the Eyebrow of Sarcastic Disbelief and Jim swung away, smiling. “Carry on, Mr Spock. Any luck in boosting the signal, Uhura?”

 

“I’ve narrowed it to a ten kilometre radius, but I don’t think I can get it more specific than that.”

 

Over on the auxiliary science station, Ensign O’Hara said thoughtfully, “If we match it with the scans of the planet, we can see if it corresponds to one of the populated areas. We’re getting enough detail through the sensors to pick out man-made structures now. Redirecting the scans through your console, Lieutenant.”

 

Thirty seconds later, Uhura let out a pleased hum. “There’s a patch of high-density population to the north that looks like a good bet. Locking on to it.”

 

“Spock, have you worked out how to adjust for time-delay?”

 

“Affirmative, Captain. If the Lieutenant sends the boosted signal through my console, it should be comprehensible.”

 

In a seamless segue, Uhura keyed in a command and sound flooded the bridge. The voice was rippled through with static, but still clear enough for Jim to recognise it as female.

 

 _“This is Director Montague of the Beta Kithara Centre for Scientific Research. Federation starship, what is your business in this system?”_

 

Jim shot Spock a look. Non-subspace radio was notoriously accessible for hackers. He suspected the Vulcans would not appreciate having their plans blared across the galaxy by some over-zealous Starfleet reporter with an ear to the ground. “It’s kind of a delicate issue, Director. I’d prefer to discuss it in a more private setting.”

 

“By which I may infer you’re here on some hush-hush mission of questionable legality?”

 

“No precisely, Director, but like I said, it is a private matter.”

 

There was a sigh, or it might have been a crackle of static _. “You’ll find your transporters don’t work round here. I’ll send up a shuttle.”_

“We could use one of our own.”

 

 _“I will send up a shuttle,”_ Montague repeated firmly.

 

“All right,” Jim said, surprised by her insistence. “How many of my people can I bring?”

 

“Eight including yourself. The shuttle will reach you in ninety minutes. Montague out.”

 

“Well,” said Jim, leaning back in his chair. “That was…”

 

“Intriguing, Captain?”

 

“I was going for ‘weird as hell’, but I can work with ‘intriguing’. Why won’t our transporters work?”

 

“Director Montague’s statement was not strictly accurate; the transporters function perfectly on our end. However, ionic disturbances in the planet’s atmosphere mean that the chances of a successful beam-down are approximately one in six hundred and thirty-eight.”

 

“And the other six hundred and thirty-seven times, your atoms get scrambled by the clouds. Nice.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

~

 

“Jim, quit staring at Spock like that.”

 

Jim blinked. Actually, he hadn’t been staring at his first officer, but the bulkhead over Spock’s shoulder was in his line of sight and good for looking vaguely at while wondering how best to open proceedings with Director Montague. “Sorry. Just thinking.”

 

“If it’s that painful, you should probably tell me about it.”

 

“Hah, funny, Bones. You want me to talk about the expressions you pull when – whoa!”

 

The little shuttle trembled in the turbulence, but righted herself and continued. McCoy had gone a sickly grey colour.

 

“When will they learn to put _stabilisers_ in these things?” he gritted out.

 

“Don’t want to make this worse for you, Bones, but I think they already do. Nearly down now, anyway.”

 

“You’d make the world’s worst counsellor, Jim..”

 

“Well, it wouldn’t be fair if I was an expert at _everything_. Think of it as Nature being even-handed: you get the psychiatry skills; I get to be good at captain-y things like space battles. Afraid I got the lion’s share of the good looks and charm though.”

 

McCoy snorted. “In your dreams.”

 

“Oh yeah, why _don’t_ we talk about the lovely Nurse Chapel?” Jim leaned back in his seat, directing his best leer at McCoy.

 

“Because Chris does not deserve being linked in my mind with that look of yours. It’s just cruel to inflict that on me without warning. And, I might add, she’s far handier with a hypospray than I am, so just you watch yourself.”

 

“Really, Bones? Threatening your best friend with violence over a girl? You wound me.”

 

“Not half as much as I’d like to,” McCoy growled.

 

Jim smirked. “Can’t touch me, I’m the captain.”

 

“Do the words ‘weekly physical’ mean anything to you?”

 

“You wouldn’t!”

 

“Watch me.”

~

 

The shuttle touched down in a courtyard surrounded by several low, whitewashed buildings. Climbing plants looped around the doorways in splashes of bright, primary colours. A set-up further from an advanced scientific research institute, it was hard to imagine.

 

“Welcome to Beta Kithara, Captain Kirk.”

 

The woman who greeted them looked to be in her early thirties – Jim reminded himself that ‘looked to be’ could mean anything on a planet of genetic specialists – and was dressed in faded blue overalls, dirt-stained at the knees. Her hair, a sun-streaked brown in colour, was piled carelessly on the top of her head. She caught Jim’s surprised look and smiled. “I’ve been out in the agri-beds, measuring our new seedlings. You have poor timing, Captain.”

 

“I apologise, Director. In normal circumstances, we’d have contacted you before setting course to your system, but there seems to be some trouble with subspace communications in this sector…” Jim let his voice trail off with the hint of a question.

 

“It’s the soil – you won’t find mineral composition like this anywhere else in the galaxy. Brilliant for growing things, but plays havoc with all sorts of technology, including the subspace. I can get you two-way radios to replace your communicators.” She brushed aside his thanks and continued: “But I’d dearly love to know what brings you here with half a dozen Vulcans in tow.”

 

Jim barely hid a grin at the idea of him being anything like in charge of the Vulcan contingent. Ambassador Suvat looked markedly less happy at the thought.

 

“The matter is quite complicated… perhaps we could discuss it in greater comfort inside?” And, damn, when had he started talking like a diplomat, all smooth tones and meaningful looks? It was just plain disturbing to open his mouth and hear his Xenocultures professor’s voice.

 

Director Montague nodded and ducked through one of the low doorways, calling back, “My office is available, Captain.”

 

~

 

Unfortunately, this decision can only be made by our full board of directors.

 

Jim heard the words with a dull lack of surprise. Montague had sounded enthusiastic enough about the benefits of an official trade agreement with the Federation, but she’d been cagey about giving away the Kitharans’ own position. And now, he supposed, they would have to spend who knew how long down here while the proposal was looked at from every possible angle and exploited for any advantage to Kithara.

 

There was no question of a shuttle trip back to the Enterprise – even if Bones hadn’t looked prepared to mutiny at the thought, a vicious ion storm had sprung up outside the biodomes and Montague had insisted the Federation party make themselves at home in the habitat dome.

 

Not even a comms link back to the Enterprise, Jim thought. Of course Scotty would take good care of her, but it was unnerving to be so utterly cut off from his ship.

 

Montague stood up beside her desk and offered him a smile containing just the right amount of regret. “I’m sorry, Captain, but even outside the Federation, there’s still bureaucracy to contend with.”

 

“I won’t be running off here to avoid the paperwork anytime soon then,” Jim said, smiling in turn.

 

“Best not. Still, I can at least offer a tour of our facilities, so that you don’t feel your trip here has been entirely wasted.”

 

Which sounded ominously like she knew the Kitharans were going to say no.

 

~

 

 _Spock is hunched over a microscope in the hydroponics lab, making notes on the progress of some new variety of seedlings Sulu’s brought back form shore leave. His face is a mask of concentration, though Jim privately thinks this is complete bullshit – Spock doesn’t get on well with Sulu’s beloved plants. He’s probably only chosen to look at the seedlings because they run the least chance of blowing up the ship if he screws up with them._

 _Not that Spock will screw up, but the possibility has no doubt been carefully accounted for somewhere in his plans._

 _Jim stops a short distance away and clears his throat. “So.”_

 _Spock does not actually say So what?, but it’s there in the set of his shoulders._

 _“I heard about you and Uhura,” Jim says. This is all Bones’s fault, dammit._ You should _talk_ to him Jim. He can’t hide from his emotions forever. _Screw that, Jim’s been dodging his emotions since he hit puberty, hasn’t done him much harm._

“No doubt the news has spread to the Romulan Empire by now,” Spock says, and Jim doesn’t like the bleak edge to his voice.

 _“Actually, we’re trying to keep it on the QT. Wouldn’t want to start interstellar war when Uhura’s relatives come looking for you.”_

 _Spock looks up from his seedlings. “You think it was I who terminated our relationship?”_

 _Jim blinks, frowns, does a mental U-turn. “It wasn’t?”_

 _“Ship’s gossip is usually so reliable, no wonder you did not bother to ascertain the truth from the Lieutenant.”_

 _“No, I didn’t ask her because in case you haven’t noticed, she’s not all that fond of me, and I like my head attached to my body_.” Bones, I hate you so, so much right now.

 _“Is there a purpose to this discussion, Captain?” Spock enquires, voice coolly polite._

 _“Aside from seeing if you’re okay? No, not really. Just, you know, if you wanna talk about it, I’m there.”_

 _“Thank you, Captain. In the unlikely event I wish to talk about my feelings with you, I shall let you know.”_

 _Jim winces. Well. Fine. If that’s how he feels…He walks through the doors without a backwards glance. In future, Bones can do his own damn counselling._

 

~

 

Montague led the group into the biodome and stepped aside, looking expectant. Warm, soil-scented air washed over them. Jim barely suppressed a gasp; Uhura and McCoy didn’t even try, both staring about them in delight. Even Spock’s eyes widened fractionally, and someone in the Vulcan contingent whispered something admiring.

 

“This place is incredible, Director.” In his head, Jim made a rough guess at the costs of such a set-up: biodome construction, atmosphere controllers, not to mention the transport costs of shipping everything out beyond Federation jurisdiction. The sum – and he was pretty sure he’d underestimated – would have outfitted a dozen starships from scratch and probably covered their five-year missions too.

 

“I concur. Your facilities surpass any I have seen.”

 

Of course Spock liked it – this was the sort of place scientists had wet dreams about. _Nope, not going there._ Jim deflected his thoughts with practised ease and focused on the contents of the dome.

 

For the first hundred metres, a grid of paths divided up the soil beds. Beyond that, the paths converged and disappeared under the canopy of a miniature rainforest. Jim didn’t think the trees would come higher than his head, though the size of the dome was making scale difficult.

 

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Montague said proudly. “These are the agri-beds. I’ve already told you about the Kitharan soil – see for yourself. That one there,” she pointed to a plant bristling with leaves that came up to Jim’s knee, “we planted two days ago as a seedling. Some of it’s the GMing we’ve done, of course, but we’ve tried this on other planets without anything near the success rate we can achieve on Kithara.”

 

“Other planets?” Jim asked.

 

“Oh yes.” Montague’s smile turned decidedly mischievous. “Turned out they were a bit too close to home for comfort. Naturally, your Federation soon put us out of business, which is why I assumed you lot weren’t quite on the right side of the law when you came calling. My, how the mighty have fallen.”

 

“You don’t seem to have done so badly without Federation support,” Jim pointed out.

 

“No, well, you’d be amazed at the generosity of some of our sponsors.”

 

At Jim’s side, Spock shifted warningly. Jim took the hint. If it turned out the Kitharans were up to anything downright illegal, there was no way the Kithara Procedure would be sanctioned. Surreptitiously, he glanced at Suvat and saw the Ambassador was watching Montague like she was under a microscope. Jim spared a moment to curse Starfleet’s shifty ethics and even shiftier politics.

 

Montague ushered them on through the agri-beds into another section of the complex. This area was a closer match for Jim’s mental picture of what a research facility should be: sterile white corridors with regularly spaced doors leading who knew where. Montague palmed the ID pad of one and ushered them inside.

 

A middle-aged man in emerald-green overalls looked over his shoulder at the interruption.

 

“Doctor Conway is our foremost bio-engineer.”

 

Conway acknowledged the party with a smile and turned back to his vivarium. It took up half the lab, a dark patchwork of greenery. In the shadows, Jim caught sight of stealthy movement.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, Doctor, what exactly is it you’re working on?” McCoy stopped a respectful distance from the plexiglas wall and peered in.

 

“Reconstructing a sabre-toothed tiger, at the moment.” Conway turned to him, eyes bright with enthusiasm. “You’re interested in regenetics…?”

 

“Leonard McCoy. And it’s hard not to be in this place. My God, a sabre-toothed tiger? How long’s that taken you?”

 

“Three years, give or take. Most of it was spent in jigging the DNA pattern to a workable level – the only samples we could find were horribly degraded. If I’m honest, a good tenth of Dawn here is just educated guesswork.”

 

“Dawn?” Montague said sharply. “You know the policy on names, John.”

 

“Of course I do, _Kate._ I wrote the damn thing, didn’t I? But you try calling _that_ ,” he waved towards the vivarium where a tawny-furred cat now stood watching them, “XP-157-DA. She’s too beautiful.” He beamed fondly at the creature, apparently oblivious to the traces of blood on its teeth.

 

Montague tutted resignedly and explained, “Many of our scientists specialise in recreating Earth’s past wildlife. For all people decry the human race as overly destructive, by galactic standards, we’ve done pretty well in preserving our pre-history.”

 

“So the majority of scientists here are human?” Jim asked.

 

“Mainly from the colonies,” she admitted. “Earth-borns tend to be squeamish about our… tinkering. Then we have a Deltan specialising in aesthetic gardening – breeding plants for appearance, you know. And two Hartotians working to recreate some of their homeworld’s history, though I don’t think they’re having much luck with it.”

 

“After the Wars of Succession, I’m surprised there was anything left to reconstruct,” Jim said, grinning quietly to himself at Spock’s eyebrow twitch of surprise. One of these days, Spock was going to stop being amazed that Jim knew anything at all, and then life would be a lot less fun for all concerned.

 

“Yes, I believe they’re finding the scarcity of data to be a little tricky to work with, but they’ve managed some quite spectacular specimens of algae. They’re hoping to move on to mammals in a year or so.”

 

“If anyone can do it, Jelath and Katrill can,” Conway put in. “But you don’t want to be looking at algae, do you, Captain Kirk? Show ‘em next door, Kate. That’s where the fun stuff’s happening.”

 

“‘Fun stuff’?” Suvat enquired acidly. “Might I remind you, Captain, that there is a serious purpose to this mission beyond indulging your interest in the history of your own planet?”

 

Jim opened his mouth to retort that what _else_ did Suvat plan to do while they waited for the committee to convene, but Montague interceded. “I think you’ll like next door, Ambassador.”

 

Suvat’s expression spoke volumes as to the unlikelihood of that outcome.

 

But the contents of the next room did at least distract Suvat from Jim’s inadequacies as a captain – the door opened onto a neatly clipped lawn with a desk sitting incongruously in the middle of it. Beyond that, a head-high tangle of grass and bracken stretched farther than Jim could see.

 

“This place is _insane_ ,” he hissed.

 

“Thank you, Captain. T’Kal is one of our most recent arrivals, but her work shows great promise.”

 

“Oh, you are fucking kidding me,” McCoy said quietly.

 

The desk’s occupant turned and nodded a greeting towards them. Behind Jim, the Vulcan delegation stirred. Montague watched their reactions, struggling not to laugh.

 

Finally, Spock said, with remarkable calmness, “We were unaware there were Vulcans working on Beta Kithara.”

 

“The High Council should have been informed,” said Suvat, the anger obvious in his voice.

 

“Ambassador,” murmured V’Lir, perhaps embarrassed at her boss’s unseemly display of temper.

 

Everyone’s gaze focused once more on T’Kal, but she ignored them, fingers flying over her computer console and eyes fixed on the screen.

 

“T’Kal,” Montague said, a little louder than strictly necessary over such a short distance. “Do you mind if I show our guests round?”

 

“So long as you do not disturb my work.”

 

Skor, another of the Ambassador’s aides, raised an eyebrow at her lack of courtesy, but Montague smiled and made for a narrow gap in the grass. Jim had to turn sideways to get through – the grass stems were a hell of a lot tougher than they looked. A sticky shower of seeds rattled down on the party and Jim sneezed. Before he could open his eyes, McCoy had jabbed him with a hypo.

 

“How do you _do_ that?” he complained. “I swear you didn’t even bring a medkit with you.”

 

“Doctor’s sixth sense,” McCoy said smugly. “And I _always_ bring a medkit, Jim. You have met yourself, right?”

 

Over McCoy’s shoulder, Jim could see Uhura and Spock trading amused looks. He scowled at them and watched Uhura utterly fail to stop smirking, and Spock’s eyebrows remain at the level of Vulcan Hilarity.

 

“If the captain has recovered, perhaps we may proceed with the tour?” Suvat said pointedly. As they moved off, Jim frowned. He didn’t think he was imagining the Ambassador’s increased agitation since they’d landed on Beta Kithara. He’d have to ask Spock later.

 

Up ahead, the grass was beginning to thin out and in a short while the party emerged onto a smooth expanse of rock.

 

“How much terraforming did you have to do here?” Jim asked, turning to Montague.

 

“Actually, this valley is a natural formation. Before T’Kal’s arrival, we were using it to model the biosystems of the planet, but it turned out to be the only area under the domes big enough for her project. The indigenous vegetation is remarkably similar to that of prehistoric Vulcan.”

 

“Indeed?” Skor’s voice had sharpened in interest. “What, precisely, is T’Kal working on here?”

 

Before Montague could reply, a sound like distant thunder filled the air. On the far side of the valley, a cloud of brown dust rose and hurried its way towards them until it slewed to a halt ten feet from the bottom of the cliff they stood on. Gradually, the dust settled.

 

“That is – most unusual, Director,” Skor said. “All the research done on Vulcan suggests that sehlatare incapable of the pack mentality. In fact, I do not believe a collective noun exists.”

 

“Those are not sehlat,” corrected V’Lir. “I would estimate they are at least seventy centimetres longer and in addition possess what appear to be poisonous spurs on their hind legs. A most interesting modification.”

 

“You’re quite right. They’re not sehlat in the same way that modern humans aren’t Neanderthals. Or rather, in the way that Neanderthals weren’t modern humans. A genetic type discarded by Nature way back down the line. I think we’ve got two or three packs now – T’Kal thought it would be informative to observe the way the different groups interacted.”

 

“T’Kal sounds an interesting individual,” Spock said.

 

“T’Kal sounds scary,” Jim muttered.

 

“And over there,” continued Montague, blithely ignoring the pair of them, “you can see we’ve got a mated pair of pterodactyls. A couple of other labs open onto this valley and some of our projects require more room than a simple vivarium.”

 

~

 _On reflection, Spock thinks, he was unnecessarily abrasive in his treatment of the captain. Inept though Kirk may be, he does seem to be acting with good intentions._

 _It is a fact, though, that Spock’s control has been slipping steadily since Vulcan was destroyed. At first he was inclined to attribute it to the influence of so many volatile humans, all projecting fear and grief in the wake of Nero’s attack, but two months have passed now. Surely his sense of control should be increasing, not diminishing?_

Nyota tried to help, but Spock’s sense of shame has been instilled in him from birth and is not so easily shaken off. Easier, so much easier, to cut off all emotions, even the positive ones he experiences in her company, than to risk another outburst like that on the bridge. Small wonder she would now prefer them to be ‘just friends’ – friends do not demand or expect the kind of soul-deep intimacy a Vulcan relationship exacts.

 

~

 

Back in the quarters they’d been assigned, Jim leaned against a bunk and looked out of the window over acres of green. Suvat’s group had taken themselves off to have serious discussions about things they presumably thought Jim wouldn’t understand, Uhura had expressed an interest in the old-fashioned radio transmitters the Kitharans were using and McCoy had gone to coo over the centre’s medical facilities. Jim found it faintly adorable that all his department heads wanted to do in their free time was look at the same things they did on-duty. Spock would probably have been content to talk science with Director Montague for hours if Jim hadn’t pulled him aside for a conference.

 

“So if I can just summarise for a moment here: we have Exhibit A, a Vulcan scientist who makes dinosaurs for shit and giggles – yes, I know that phrase makes no logical sense, you told me that last time – and Exhibit B, a Vulcan ambassador currently flipping out over Exhibit A. What I’d dearly love to know is _why_ Suvat’s acting so twitchy down here. Tell me you noticed too,” he added.

 

“I noticed,” Spock said noncommittally.

 

“And you’re not going to offer me _any_ theories? Really?”

 

“I am in no position to speculate on the Ambassador’s personal life.”

 

“See, now, that’s what gets me suspicious, ‘cause normally you try and pretend Vulcans don’t _have_ a personal life.”

 

“I merely--”

 

“I don’t think even Starfleet Command knows exactly what’s going on here.” Jim wrapped his hands round the rungs of the ladder next to him and sighed. “There’s so many things the High Council aren’t telling, it’s not even funny. I managed to get access to the original transmission to the Admiralty – don’t ask how, you’d probably have to put me in the brig for it – and it’s in High Vulcan. _High. Fucking. Vulcan._ And intended for the eyes of the Commander-in-Chief only. Tell me that’s not weird.”

 

“It is unusually secretive,” Spock allowed.

 

“No kidding. Anyway, that was just before we picked up the Ambassador, and what with him breathing down our necks for the rest of the voyage, I didn’t like to bring it up again. And now we’re here and he’s acting so damn twitchy – I didn’t even think Vulcans could _do_ twitchy – and I’m gonna find out what’s going on here if it kills me.”

 

Spock was looking distinctly uncomfortable by this point. “Captain, I believe you are putting an unnecessarily sinister interpretation on matters.”

 

Well, fuck. That pretty much blew Jim’s theory (all right, unrealistic hope) that whatever was going on was as much a secret from Spock as it was from him out the water. “The High Council’s deliberately withholding information,” he said flatly. “ _You’re_ deliberately withholding information, and I’m pretty sure that’s an offence under the Starfleet Code of Conduct. It you’re putting the rest of the crew in danger, I _will_ bring you up on charges.”

 

Annoyance flashed across Spock’s face before he could control it. Then he straightened and tucked his arms behind his back in the parade ground stance Jim had learnt to interpret as Spock Going Vulcan. “I am only in defiance of the Code of Conduct if the information pertains directly to the mission. I do not believe mine does.”

 

“You’re seriously going to play that card? Because I can get Uhura to translate the Council’s message. Sure, it’ll be fun explaining to Starfleet exactly how I know this mission is a piece of crap, but I’m sure I can handle it.” Not to mention his less official source of information on all things Vulcan.

 

“You would be in violation of no less than four regulations. It would be sufficient for you to be stripped of your captaincy.”

 

There was no softening of tone, but Spock’s eyes were fixed on Jim’s with the hint of a question: _Would you truly risk that?_

“They’d have to prove it first, and I know you don’t like to admit it, but I am actually good at what I do. There aren’t any traces.”

 

“And if the Council’s message contains none of this ‘hidden information’ you hope to find?”

 

“Then we’ve come in a full circle, and I know you’re going to tell me whatever it is sooner or later because that’s how we work. Just, sooner would be good. Before Suvat actually does lose his shit and we have a proper diplomatic incident on our hands.”

 

Spock shifted slightly on his feet and seemed to hold himself more stiffly to attention. “It is not a subject lightly spoken of among my people.”

 

“And I’m not asking you lightly. I’m not a complete asshole, Spock; I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it was important.”

 

Spock gave a barely audible sigh. “I am aware of that, Captain. Very well. While I do not know how, precisely, it relates to the Ambassador’s unusual behaviour, I have enough familiarity with Vulcan cultural practices to know what was left out of the orders you received. It relates to the Vulcan marriage bond, and was therefore considered necessary information in order that Starfleet Command could fully understand what the Kithara Procedure represents.”

 

He settled his hands behind his back once more and addressed his next remarks to a point on the wall behind Jim, apparently preferring to pretend this was just another report to deliver.

 

“As you know, Vulcans are a telepathic species and as such, mental compatibility is one of the most important qualities sought in a mate. In our early history, there were therefore very few long-term partnerships as natural compatibility is rare. Later, it was realised that the minds of young children are not as rigidly defined as those of adults and that two such unformed minds, once brought together, would often grow in complementary ways. Following this discovery, it became the practice for families to – the closest Standard term I can find is ‘betroth’ – their children around the age of seven in order that they be assured of a suitable partner later.”

 

Jim waited for him to continue. When he did not, he said incredulously, “That’s it? The great Vulcan secret is _arranged marriages?_ ”

 

Spock looked frustrated. “It is difficult to fully explain the concept in Standard. The bond is… more complicated than a marriage. In some ways more complete, in others less so. It is cemented during the -” Jim saw the muscles in Spock’s jaw clench. “- In the _pon farr_ and can then only be broken by a trained telepathic adept.”

 

Jim very much wanted to ask what ‘the _pon farr’_ was, but other, more interesting bits of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place. “And so many Vulcans lost their lives in Nero’s attack, I’m guessing that a lot of these ‘unbreakable’ bonds got severed way before they were meant to. Am I right?”

 

Spock nodded shortly. “You are. In strongly bonded couples, it is not uncommon for the surviving partner to die shortly after from the pain of the broken bond, and I believe there were several hundred cases among those who survived Vulcan’s destruction.” He spoke dispassionately, but his whole body seemed to tauten with the strain of it.

 

“Of those left, many are able to continue, despite the loss of their bondmate. However, some are… not. What you must understand is that the process of bonding affects the brain itself, and as Doctor McCoy would no doubt tell you, the brain is a complex organ. There have been…” He paused, searching for the best way to continue. “ _Incidents_ in which it appears that Vulcans who lost bondmates are also losing control of their own faculties.”

 

Jim inhaled sharply. “Shit.”

 

“It is theorised that it is the effect of such loss across the entire population – the cumulative effect of grief – that is causing this. The Vulcan High Council would have included this information in their missive to Starfleet in order to impress upon them the urgency in realising the Kithara Procedure. Apart from that, I do not believe any offworlder has been informed.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “As a people that prize control above all else, it is not the sort of information any Vulcan would willingly share.”

 

Which, combined with Spock’s look of almost-shame, made Jim feel just _wonderful._ Forcing himself to concentrate on the new information, he said slowly, “Do we know if the Ambassador’s bondmate’s still alive? Because that could explain why he’s acting so strangely about the whole thing.”

 

Spock tilted his head thoughtfully. “I do not. If it were not for the lack of subspace communication in this system, I could find out discreetly through my father. As it is, it seems our only recourse is to ask the Ambassador directly.”

 

“Or perhaps not directly – maybe one of his aides knows.”

 

“It is possible,” Spock agreed.

 

“So.” Jim pushed himself away from the bunk and began to tread invisible circles, a habit that had caused Bones to threaten murder more than once during finals time at the Academy. “I think you’d be able to bring up the subject of bondmates with V’Lir or someone much more easily than me, ‘specially since I’m not even meant to know about them. And while you’re doing that, I’m going to go find Montague, see if she’s shaken us up a committee meeting yet.” He was about to head past Spock and out the door when he hesitated. “How important is it that the Kitharans agree to help?”

 

“If they do not, there are, at a rough estimate, two thousand Vulcans without bondmates in the new colony. It is fully possible all will begin exhibiting symptoms, given time.”

 

Jim wasn’t stupid. He knew, without needing to ask, that Spock was wondering the same thing as himself: would the effect be any different with a non-Vulcan bondmate? Sarek had appeared, to Jim’s inexperienced eyes at least, to be the model of Vulcan control, but so, he supposed, had all the others.

 

And even closer to home, where exactly did Spock fall in all this? Jim didn’t quite dare ask – did his relationship with Uhura mean he was unbonded? Somehow, he couldn’t imagine Vulcans being big on infidelity.

 

He gave a mental shrug. Spock was still looking as intensely unhappy with himself as Jim had seen in months; it wouldn’t be right to press him further now. Particularly not when Jim’s curiosity was not entirely professional.

 

~

 

Spock opened the door to Nyota’s quarters on a spirited three-way argument.

 

“And I’m telling you, you’re being ridiculous. Jim, I have the guy’s medical records; there’s nothing there to suggest he’s gonna go batshit on us and you can’t go pulling stunts like this on just a hunch.”

 

“Bones, I know what I’m talking about!”

 

“Much as it pains me, his hunches are good.”

 

“Not you too! Am I the only voice of sanity here?”

 

Spock let the door shut behind him with a soft click. It fell in a lull in the discussion, and Jim immediately jumped to his feet with a somewhat relieved smile.

 

“Spock agrees with me, Bones.”

 

“I believe I agreed that your theory was not impossible,” Spock demurred. “Am I to assume that you have shared my information with Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Uhura ?”

 

“Yes. Um.” Jim gave him an almost worried look, as though he thought this might be taking liberties.

 

“It is only logical to share whatever we know,” Spock assured him.

 

“Which is precisely zip at the moment,” McCoy cut in. “Jim says the Ambassador’s lost his bondmate and is gonna go mad with grief or something.”

 

“An accurate, if crude, summation.” Jim smirked unrepentantly. “The captain has observed certain unusual patterns of behaviour in the Ambassador and has hypothesised that these could be explained by the loss of a bondmate.”

 

Strange, Spock reflected, to speak so casually of such things, as though he hadn’t done everything in his power to keep the knowledge from Jim just a few hours ago. The others were pretending not to be surprised by the new information – Spock supposed that they would not have needed to pretend if he had ever demonstrated the human propensity for discourse on his private life – but Nyota kept giving him speculative looks.

 

“I too have observed a deviation from the Vulcan norm in the Ambassador’s behaviour,” he continued. Jim shot him a wounded look and mouthed, _You could’ve said._ “However, I could not be certain my observations were uninfluenced by what I knew of the situation on Vulcan. The captain provided an unbiased confirmation.”

 

“Alrighty, so Suvat’s losing it. Question is, what can we do about it? Hit up the High Council? ‘Hiya, fellers, couldn’t help but notice your Ambassador’s batshit insane. Can we swap him for a new one?’ Because I’m sure that’d go down well.”

 

“Like a lead swimsuit,” Jim agreed.

 

“Not strictly related, but what about him and T’Kal?” Nyota put in. At their looks of surprise, she sighed. “For Starfleet’s brightest and best, you do have a penchant for missing the blindingly obvious. His body language towards her was all wrong if they were meant to be strangers – too aggressive, too confrontational. You must have noticed?”

 

“I noticed V’Lir had to practically gag him to stop him saying something, shall we say, _undiplomatic_.”

 

“Exactly. He was unreasonably angry by human standards, let alone Vulcan. Don’t you think that’s interesting?”

 

“Please don’t tell me you think him and T’Kal are secret lovers or something,” Jim said. Nyota dignified him with a look that said _Only you could think of something like that. Captain._

 

Aloud, she said, “I don’t think that’s very likely, but there’s definitely something going on there. And it gives us our best evidence of Suvat’s irrationality.”

 

“Spock, did you manage to find out whether Suvat’s bonded yet?”

 

“Negative, Captain. All I have been able to ascertain on the subject is that the Ambassador is extremely reticent on all private matters. None of the ambassadorial staff knew him before they were assigned to this mission and none seems to have discovered anything since meeting him.”

 

“Regular man of mystery, our Ambassador,” McCoy muttered.

 

“Dammit.” Jim jumped up from his chair and began to pace a tight circle round the three of them. “So, what do we know?” he asked, more to himself than anyone else.

 

“Sweet FA at the moment,” McCoy said.

 

“We know that the Ambassador is exhibiting an unusual lack of emotional restraint for a Vulcan,” Spock noted.

 

Jim nodded distractedly, continuing to pace. “Acting kind of antsy, yep.”

 

“Said behaviour forms a rough parallel with that seen in Vulcans who lost bondmates in Nero’s attack. This alone is not enough to make such a loss a definite cause, but is suggestive.”

 

“But we don’t actually know if Suvat’s lost a bondmate, or even if this is unusual behaviour by his standards. Not every Vulcan has complete emotional control, right?”

 

“True. However, it is unheard of for one in a position of such importance.”

 

“Ugh.” Jim kicked at his empty chair. “I wish we could _know._ ”

 

“If we could get the ship into an orbit further out, the subspace systems wouldn’t be affected by this planet’s energy fields.”

 

Jim whipped around to face Nyota. “Seriously?”

 

She shrugged. “We only lost contact with Starfleet Command right before we dropped into standard orbit. Stands to reason that we’d only need to take the Enterprise a little way out to re-establish contact. The only problem I can see is in getting a message from here to the ship; the radio waves the Kitharans are using lose integrity really fast – it’s not that they don’t get through, but they’re so distorted by the time they do that there’s no way to piece a message together from them. I can probably fix that though.”

 

“ _Oh_ yes, this is why I hired you.”

 

“You didn’t hire me, Captain,” Nyota reminded him with a smile. “I was assigned to the Enterprise.”

 

Jim waved a hand. “Details, details. So we get a message through to the Enterprise via Uhura’s great powers of awesomeness and then we can finally get some answers.” Spock observed that he looked a lot happier now he had a definite plan of action.

 

“And what happens then, Jim?” McCoy asked, looking amused at Jim’s enthusiasm.

 

Jim’s grin slipped a little. “I’m not quite sure. It’s probably our duty to get in contact with the High Council, but it’s not like they can do anything while we’re so far out. I guess we could talk to Suvat’s aides, ask them to keep an eye on him or something?”

 

“They would require incontrovertible proof before agreeing to such a plan,” Spock pointed out.

 

“Proof that we’ll hopefully have before we need to worry about asking them. Besides, there’re four of us. I’m fairly sure we can manage to keep track of one guy, make sure he doesn’t do anything crazy.”

 

“There are four of us and we’re all in this room, Captain. So who’s keeping an eye on the Ambassador now?”

 

“ _Crap_. I’ll go. You know what you’re doing with the Kitharan comms, yeah? Awesome. Before I forget, the committee convenes tomorrow after breakfast. Suvat’ll be speaking and we’re meant to offer our support, so I guess that means I’ll have to make a speech – Spock, can I pick your brains about that later?”

 

Before Spock could do much more than open his mouth, Jim beamed at him, said, “Awesome, I’ll come find you,” and crossed to the door in three steps.

 

McCoy watched him head down the corridor at a run and shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind him coming up with these crazy-ass theories, but it _always_ ends up with yours truly getting roped in. And the worst of it is, he usually turns out to be right, so I guess we can expect Suvat to start showing craziness above and beyond the usual in, ooh, twelve hours?”

 

~

 

Jim woke up, looked across to the bunk opposite and swore under his breath. In his haste to get down the ladder, he wound up jumping the last few feet, landing rather harder than he’d intended. Fortunately, the only person disturbed by the noise seemed to be Spock, and since it had been Jim’s intention to wake him anyway…

 

“I hate to say I told you so,” he whispered, crouching by Spock’s pillow. “But, uh, hell _yeah_ I told you so. Suvat’s gone AWOL.”

 

Spock looked at him. “That should not be possible; I have not slept precisely in order that I might prevent him from leaving.”

 

“You were _meant_ to wake me or Bones up,” Jim said.

 

“Since I did not require sleep, it did not seem logical to do so.”

 

“And you’re sure you didn’t just nod off for a couple of minutes? Okay, okay, shouldn’t have asked,” he added in response to Spock’s look of reproach. “Damn, that’s one sneaky ambassador.”

 

“Affirmative. He should not, however, prove impossible to trace. If you feel sufficiently rested, we could set off now.”

 

“Yeah, just give me a second to…” Jim waved a hand at the rather fetching flannel pyjamas he’d been issued with.

 

“Of course,” Spock said politely, turning to look at the wall while Jim hastily pulled on his uniform.

 

“Ready.”

 

Somehow Jim wasn’t surprised to find that Spock had slept – or at any rate gone to bed – in his uniform.

 

“There seemed little point in donning nightwear, since I did not intend to sleep,” Spock said.

 

Jim started – how close did you have to get for the whole touch-telepathy thing to kick in? Then he realised that he’d been staring pretty obviously at Spock – more specifically, at the way Spock’s hair was sticking up at the back from lying on it – and looked away.

 

“Very logical,” he said.

 

Spock gave him the eyebrow that meant he thought Jim was messing with him. Jim pretended not to notice.

 

“Think we’ll need these?” he asked, reaching under his pillow for his phaser and the little radio he was using in lieu of a communicator.

 

“They weigh little and it would be better to be over-prepared than under.”

 

“Best Boy Scout ever,” Jim mumbled to himself. Spock looked at him oddly, but didn’t ask.

 

The residential corridor stretched silently away on either side. A couple of doors down was the room where Uhura was staying with V’Lir and the other female Vulcan, whose name Jim thought was something like T’Mara. For a moment, he contemplated waking her. But no, the more of them there were, the more noise they’d make. Besides (and this was something he was only ever going to admit in the privacy of his head), he rather liked the idea of him and Spock sneaking around together while everyone else was asleep.

 

“Which way?” he asked softly.

 

“There is a door to the rest of the habitat dome at the end of the corridor,” Spock replied, pointing.

 

Once outside, Jim could see the faintest threads of sunrise through the dome, though its interior remained shrouded in darkness. Obviously Suvat had only just left: a string of motion-sensitive lights still illuminated one of the paths, heading towards the main research facilities.

 

“T’Kal?”

 

“So it would seem,” Spock murmured.

 

They set off side by side, moving as casually as possible down the path after Suvat.

 

“If anyone asks, we can be having a secret moonlit tryst,” Jim said, shooting a sideways look at Spock.

 

“Or simply taking advantage of our current situation to experience natural night as opposed to that on the ship.”

 

“Secret moonlit trysts are more fun,” Jim argued.

 

“Some day you must ask the Federation to update its dictionaries to include this new definition of ‘fun’.”

 

“Maybe I will and then you’ll be sorry.”

 

Spock raising his eyebrow, Jim couldn’t help noticing, made the moonlight shift in interesting patterns on his face. He looked quickly back at the path ahead. Moonlight and madness only went together in fairy tales.

 

The door to the connecting tunnel between the domes was locked, presumably on some sort of automatic switch. Jim frowned thoughtfully at the control pad.

 

“I believe I may be of some assistance here,” Spock said.

 

Jim gaped at him. “No _way._ You know how to pick locks?”

 

“Not precisely. This model is one I improved upon back at the Academy. Naturally, I had to learn the methods employed by criminals to open such locks before I could devise effective countermeasures.”

 

“Naturally,” Jim said, stepping aside to allow Spock better access to the lock. Really, he thought, a broad grin threatening to break out on his face, would he ever find out the full extent of his first officer’s talents? And it was definitely necessary to remind himself that Spock was his XO – the look of intense concentration on Spock’s face as he traced his fingers over the control pad was sending Jim’s brain to all sorts of places he’d been fighting (not entirely successfully) to keep it away from for at least the last month. _Moonlight and madness,_ he told himself firmly _, do not apply to me._

All in all, it was something of a relief when the door swung open and Spock stepped inside without looking back at Jim.

 

A surprising number of the labs were occupied. Jim discovered this when he opened a door he’d thought led to another corridor to find two women scribbling furiously on separate whiteboards, each trying to drown out the other’s attempt to demonstrate a superior solution. They were having too much fun to notice Jim as he retreated and shut the door silently behind him.

 

“This place is ridiculously big,” he told Spock, catching up with him at a junction where five corridors branched off.

 

“Thank you for that astute observation, Captain,” Spock said snippily. “Excuse me,” he added. “I am simply having more trouble than I anticipated in retracing the route to T’Kal lab.”

 

“You’re doing better than me – I thought we must’ve come in a different door or something, ‘cause I haven’t recognised a thing since we got here.”

 

“My sense of direction is more developed than in most humans and my powers of recall have been trained from a young age. I should have no difficulty.” There was something close to frustration in his voice.

 

Jim kept quiet, unwilling to distract him. After a few more seconds, though, Spock seemed to reach a decision and turned down the far right corridor. They took a left, then another, and Jim began to experience a creeping sense of familiarity. He glanced at the nameplates on the doors they were hurrying past: Thapar, Hendrikson, Freeman. Then – Conway. Which meant T’Kal’s lab was next.

 

He stopped outside Conway’s door. It was all very well planning to tail Suvat here, but none of the doors had windows in them – without opening the door, they had no way of knowing if Suvat and T’Kal were even in the lab. Spock stopped slightly ahead and looked back at him curiously. In a clumsy mix of mime and what little Standard sign language he could remember from the Academy, Jim explained.

 

With rather more fluency than Jim, Spock signed back that they could at least ascertain whether or not the Ambassador and T’Kal were close to the door, simply by listening through it.

 

Of course, Jim reflected after nearly a minute of dead silence, if the doors were soundproofed, this wasn’t going to work. It didn’t help that he kept tuning in on Spock’s breathing, rather than any noise from beyond the door.

 

When Spock tapped his arm, Jim started.

 

 _I cannot hear anything,_ Spock signed.

 

Jim mimed pushing the door ajar to sneak a peek inside. Spock nodded. The door wasn’t locked and they managed to get inside with barely a rustle of fabric audible. The faint breeze carried the distant murmur of conversation to them. Jim did his best to mime _Ahah!_ and moved towards the border where the neatly clipped lawn met the taller grass.

 

Too noisy to go through.

 

 _But the grass does not extend too far. It might be possible to see over._ Spock’s hand gestures were losing coherency as he hurried to explain his idea, and Jim had to wave wildly to get him to slow down.

 

Why? Don’t need to see, need to hear.

Spock dug in a pocket and produced a gleaming bit of metal about a centimetre across. Jim’s eyes widened. _Where did you get that?_

Spock twiddled a finger by his ear in a way Jim could only interpret as _crazy_.

 

Don’t understand.

 _U-H-U-_

Jim mimed a thunderbolt of realisation. Now he knew what Spock’s finger-twiddling was meant to represent, it did look quite a lot like the way Uhura played with her earpiece.

 

 _How did Uhura get one?_

 _I did not ask._

Fair enough, Jim supposed. Spock had to know the listening device wasn’t quite legal, but he’d gotten a lot better at pretending not to notice the less-than-model behaviour of Jim’s crew whenever it benefited the ship.

 

I need to see where they are to direct the thingy.

 

Well, Spock probably hadn’t said ‘thingy’, but Jim had never learnt exactly what the device was called, so ‘thingy’ it would have to be. He nodded.

 

 _You’re taller than me, you can see if I…_ He mimed giving Spock a boost.

 

On reflection, that probably hadn’t been his brightest idea. Spock was _heavy._ And also sort of climbing all over Jim in his efforts to see over the grass, which Jim considered unfairly distracting. He hoped his breathing wasn’t as loud as it seemed to him, or they could kiss goodbye to getting away with this.

 

And seriously, how long was Spock taking? Jim had taken jaunts across the quadrant in less time. He ignored his burning muscles and shifted him a little higher. Finally, finally, Spock jumped down. Jim offered him a tentative thumbs-up. Spock returned the gesture more emphatically, which was just a little surreal, although actually, watching Spock mime things in general was more than a little bit weird. Not to mention hilarious.

 

With rapid movements, Spock keyed in directions for the thingy, which sprouted spindly little legs and skittered away through the grass. The remote control obviously acted as the receiver too, because Spock attached a pair of headphones and began redirecting the bug to get a better sound. His usual blank expression was lost to momentary surprise. Jim held out a hand for the other headphone.

 

Well, that was… interesting. Slightly indistinct, but unmistakable, the sound of sobbing came through the wires. It had to be T’Kal, because a moment later, Suvat’s voice said, _“I grieve with thee.”_

The sobbing stopped abruptly. Jim glanced at Spock, who’d gone very still, eyes deliberately avoiding any contact.

 

 _“Your sympathy is unwarranted and unnecessary,”_ T’Kal snapped. _“My grief is my own and I did not desire to share it with anyone until you forced your way into my laboratory. The memory of Soral does not excuse that.”_

There was a moment’s silence, then, _“Forgive me; I acted not out of memory for the past, but out of hope for the future.”_

 _“You speak in riddles, Suvat, and it is tiresome. Did they teach you to talk in circles when you became an ambassador?”_ She spoke with magnificent scorn, and Jim couldn’t help grinning.

 _“I did not intend to speak anything other than plain fact, which is that I came to you, not because of Soral, but because I believe you to be invaluable in building the future of our people.”_

 _“I? A scientist whose work has driven her beyond Federation law? Invaluable to our future? You are surely mistaken.”_

 _“I confess I did not realise it at first – that you have allied yourself with these gene-splicers and purveyors of monsters is intolerable – but you can still be of use to our people, you need not shut yourself away in this outpost of butchers and criminals.”_

Even without seeing T’Kal’s face, Jim could guess that hadn’t gone over well.

 

“The work done here is no less valuable than that of the fabled Vulcan Science Academy, Suvat. If you cannot see that, I suggest you leave now.”

 _“But the so-called ‘Kithara Procedure’ – it is an outrage against everything Vulcans believe, an outrage against Soral’s memory. Can you not see that?”_

 _“Your argument is based merely on emotion and therefore has no merit,”_ T’Kal replied coldly.

 

 _“You speak to me of emotion, you whom I found weeping for the loss of her bondmate?”_ Suvat’s voice had gone taut with anger.

 

“My lapse of control – alone, until you interrupted – is not as inexcusable as yours. Leave me now and we shall not speak of this.”

 _“You will help me!”_

 _“I will not,”_ T’Kal said calmly.

 

There was a scuffle and a grunt of pain, then a high, desperate, wordless scream that Jim could hear even without the listening device. Without pausing to think, he set off at a sprint towards the long grass, phaser drawn. Spock overtook him before he reached it and plunged into the grass like he was swimming in it.

 

Jim had an easier time of it, following the path Spock had beaten down, until they reached the path they had followed with Director Montague. Maybe ten seconds later, they reached open ground, to see Suvat with his back to them, crouched over the limp form of T’Kal, fingers clamped to her face.

 

Even if Jim had never seen a forced mind-meld before, there was a palpable sense of violation in the scene. His phaser shot reached Suvat’s back microseconds ahead of Spock’s.

 

They dragged the Ambassador aside. T’Kal’s whole body had gone rigid, her eyes wide and staring.

 

“She is in a state of fugue – her mind has retreated in the face of Suvat’s attack,” Spock explained as Jim felt for a pulse. “I would not do this without permission, but there seems little choice.”

 

Jim watched in helpless fascination as Spock’s fingers moved gently over T’Kal’s face. There was deathly quiet. Spock’s breathing became so shallow, Jim could barely hear it, and T’Kal’s seemed to cease altogether. Jim found himself holding his own breath in sympathy.

 

The minutes slid by with painful slowness. Spock was risking God knew what, chasing after a fleeing mind, and Jim could do nothing to help and he hated it. He moved over to where Suvat lay. As far as he could recall, multiple phaser shots had no worse side effects than a single one, aside from possibly burning the skin on contact. Frankly, he wasn’t too bothered about Suvat’s long-term health, but it was going to be hard enough explaining how he and Spock had known to come to T’Kal’s aid without also having to account for the death of a Federation ambassador. _God, what a mess._

He used some strips from the Ambassador’s robe to tie his hands, not even knowing if it would hold against Vulcan strength, not even sure when Suvat was going to start coming round.

 

Spock still hadn’t moved, but Jim thought his face looked more drawn than before. He wondered if it was possible to break a meld, whether that would do more damage than leaving Spock in it for hours on end. More than anything, he wished he’d brought Uhura or Bones with him. Either of them probably knew three times more about Vulcans than Jim did. Perhaps he should radio one of them? Or both. It’d bring the whole facility down on them, but as far as he could see, they weren’t getting out of this one without some creative explaining anyway.

 

Five minutes passed and Jim was beginning to get distinctly jumpy. He wasn’t much good at waiting quietly at the best of times and with Spock possibly-maybe losing his mind a foot away, this definitely didn’t qualify as one of those. _Fuck it._ He reached for his radio.

 

“Bones? Bones?” No response. He tried again a little louder. Then, abandoning any shred of subtlety: “ _Leonard McCoy, get your ass down here now._ ”

 

 _“I hate you so much right now, Jim.”_ Bones’s voice was sleep-blurred and grumpy. No surprises there.

 

“Sorry, Bones, no time. We’re in T’Kal’s lab – don’t really want to say more on an open channel, but I think I’m gonna be needing your medical expertise.” Jim was kind of proud of how level he’d kept his voice through that. “Bring Uhura too. And, uh, if you can avoid waking anyone else, that’d be great.”

 

“Bit late for that, Jim. So do I try and shake ‘em off or what?”

 

Jim sighed. Why bother? “Nah, knowing my luck it’ll be galaxy-wide by lunchtime so they may as well see what’s happening for themselves.”

 

Bones sighed too. “On my way. McCoy out.”

 

Bones’s progress through the labs was rather quicker and noisier than Jim and Spock’s had been. His eyes took in the unconscious forms of Suvat and T’Kal, and Spock, still kneeling by T’Kal’s head, before glaring at Jim in exasperation.

 

“I really do hate you sometimes.”

 

Uhura took one look at the scene, pursed her lips and stalked back into the grass, just as Skor, V’Lir and T’Mara emerged from it.

 

“How long has he been like this?” T’Mara asked in a business-like way, nodding at Spock.

 

“Nearly twenty minutes.”

 

She drew in a breath. “That is not encouraging. The longer a mind spends divorced from its body, the harder it is for it to return.”

 

Jim looked at the ground. “Is there anything you can do?”

 

“Only what he is currently doing for T’Kal.”

 

“And would you end up like…?”

 

“It is possible. I for one would be prepared to risk it.”

 

“As would I,” Skor added.

 

“The benefits of bringing two minds back outweigh the dangers of losing one more,” V’Lir agreed.

 

“Additionally, if two or indeed all three of us attempt it while in contact with each other’s minds, the chances of our own becoming lost decrease dramatically. We will do it.”

 

Bones laid a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “C’mon, doesn’t sound like we’ll be much help. Damned Vulcan voodoo,” he added almost reflexively.

 

Jim allowed Bones to lead him to one side. “Where did Uhura go?”

 

“Gone to find the Director and get Security to take care of Suvat. Though frankly, I reckon she was pissed off enough to handle him on her own, Vulcan or no. You don’t mess with Spock under Uhura’s watch.”

 

Jim glanced over to where the three Vulcan diplomats were clustered round Spock and T’Kal. “Was my crew always this badass, or is it my influence?”

 

Bones snorted, shifting casually to block his view. “You wish. And speaking of Uhura, you got back too late from stalking Suvat for me to tell you, but she managed to get a message through to the Enterprise and they passed it on to New Vulcan, so we’re supposed to get a response today.”

 

“That’s… good. Although I’m not so sure we need the proof of Suvat’s crazy anymore.”

 

“You kidding? Until T’Kal’s in a fit state to testify, all anyone has to say is that you two knocked out Suvat and tried to force a meld with T’Kal to further your Evil Plan. Which I’m not sure what that could be, but that won’t stop ‘em saying it.”

 

“Fuck.”

 

Then again, if T’Kal didn’t pull through, that meant they’d have lost Spock too and if that happened, Jim wasn’t sure he cared about whatever disciplinary charges ‘Fleet Command brought him up on.

 

Bones seemed to know what he was thinking. “They’ll make it, Jim. Those Vulcans are crazy-stubborn, and you think Spock won’t be fighting to get back? They’ll make it.”

 

At some point, Uhura arrived with half a dozen security guards in tow. They carried Suvat away and seemed to want to take Jim too, but she glared them into a hasty retreat.

 

“Reckless idiot,” she said fondly, sitting down next to Jim. “Of course he jumps straight in with something most Vulcans get years of training for.”

 

“But you think he’ll be okay?” Jim asked.

 

She looked at him. “I do. His mind is stronger than any Vulcan I’ve ever met – it’s had to be to counterbalance his human half. I’d say that’s a pretty good start.”

 

“That’s… that’s actually good to hear,” he acknowledged.

 

She smiled. “And when they bring him out of the meld, you can _bet_ I’ll be having words with him.”

 

Jim had to laugh. “You and me both,” he told her.

 

“It’ll be okay,” she said, laying a hand on his arm. Jim looked at her in surprise; he’d never thought she was particularly fond of needless physical contact, another reason she and Spock got on so well. “It’ll be okay,” she repeated, and Jim thought that maybe the contact was something they both needed.

 

Spock came round enough to be detached from T’Kal some time later and was immediately hustled off to the medical facilities. Jim tried to follow, but a menacing pair of Security officers suggested that he might prefer not to have to spend time in sickbay himself. Jim looked at them, their lazy confidence in their own superiority, figured he could probably take them in a fight, and walked away. It wasn’t like he needed to prove it.

 

In any case, Spock had seemed well enough, if a little disorientated. T’Kal, though, had needed the support of both V’Lir and T’Mara. Jim remembered Suvat crouching over her body and felt a wave of sick anger flood him. Maybe he hadn’t been completely sane, but Jim couldn’t see that as much of an excuse. Federation law, on the other hand…

 

He really needed some air, he decided. Before he did something completely stupid, like finding out where they were keeping Suvat and… Jim didn’t like where that thought was headed – didn’t want to think he was still that sort of person. He broke into a run, following corridors at random until he reached an exterior door.

 

The warm, earth-scented air of the biodomes broke over him. Much as he loved his ship, he couldn’t help but want to take full advantage of every moment he spent planetside. Formal gardens stretched away to his left, but he was in no mood to appreciate their perfect symmetry. Instead, he headed right, where great creeper-tangled trees formed a small forest. It looked dark enough beneath their shadows for him to lose himself properly.

 

He lost track of time as he walked, the foliage closing in around him the instant he left the path. He could have been walking hours before the sound of soft footfalls reached him.

 

“ _How_ are you so quiet?” he demanded as Spock fell into step beside him, having apparently located him through sheer willpower. 

 

“By avoiding actions which would make a noise,” Spock replied, which was no answer at all as far as Jim was concerned. “Doctor McCoy said I should find you. He seemed to think you were – worried about me.” He looked curiously at Jim, as though the idea of worrying for someone trapped inside someone else’s head was completely absurd.

 

“I’m glad you’re okay. Even though it’s definitely my job to be the irresponsible one and your job to fuss over me.”

 

“I do not ‘fuss’- that is the prerogative of Doctor McCoy. He has already informed me what he thinks of my actions. I believe the word ‘reckless’ came up no fewer than four times.”

 

Jim snorted softly. “Sounds like Bones, all right.”

 

“I apologise for causing you undue anxiety, Captain, but there was little time for explanations.”

 

“Hey, if the choice is between explaining to me or saving someone’s life, your priorities are dead on as they are. How is T’Kal?”

 

Spock frowned slightly. “T’Mara has basic training as a mind-healer and is certain that T’Kal’s mind has indeed returned to her body. And yet she continues to be unresponsive, except in the case of the most crude physical stimuli.”

 

“Is it possible Suvat actually damaged her mind when he tried to meld with her?”

 

“Unknown. It would require specific facilities of the type only found in Vulcan colonies to diagnose such a condition. However, it is a very real possibility. There is a reason why Vulcans are renowned for their strong ethical codes – the power to gain access to the mind of a sentient being is a dangerous one in the wrong hands.”

 

Jim thought of T’Kal’s stark, staring eyes and nodded.

 

“Traditionally, forced melding is considered one of the worst crimes a Vulcan can commit,” Spock said quietly. “Under Vulcan law, the punishment is… severe. Fortunately for Suvat, his position as diplomat allows him to be tried under Federation law instead.”

 

“’Fortunately’?”

 

“Vulcan law takes very little account of insanity as a defence.”

 

Jim considered this as they walked on. “I don’t think he was insane. Desperate, yeah, unreasonably obsessed with the purity of Vulcan culture, or some such crap, yeah. But not insane.”

 

“I agree.”

 

“But I guess any halfway decent lawyer will be able to prove he was driven mad by grief.”

 

Spock looked at him in surprise. “My father was able to discover the fate of Suvat’s bondmate?”

 

“I don’t know. I guess I assumed… Actually, we’re supposed to get a message back today.”

 

“He and T’Kal spoke of a Vulcan named Soral.” Spock stopped, looking thoughtful.

 

“Yeah, I remember. You think Soral was Suvat’s bondmate?”

 

“No. He was T’Kal’s. Her memories of him were… peculiarly distinct. And there were other memories, less clear, of the three of them as children.” He turned to Jim, looking almost excited. “Jim, Soral and Suvat were brothers. They would have shared a family bond, which would have been broken at Soral’s death.”

 

“And it works like a marriage bond?”

 

“In a similar fashion, yes, though not as intense. But with the cumulative grief I spoke of before, it could certainly be enough to unbalance Suvat. It would offer him a valid defence according to the Federation. And much is in flux when it comes to Vulcan law – it is possible the sheer number of similar cases would force a change.”

 

“But there can’t be a Vulcan in the new colony who hasn’t lost at least one family member. If Suvat sets precedence…” Jim frowned. He’d never wanted to get caught up in interplanetary law.

 

“I did not say that I agreed with the defence, only that it exists. In any case -”

 

The shriek of an alarm tore through the rest of his words.

 

“What the hell’s that?” Jim shouted.

 

“I do not know. Logically, I would presume it emanates from the main research facility.”

 

They crashed through the woods, creepers unfurling into their path and roots springing up from nowhere, or so it seemed to Jim. The noise was indeed coming from the building, where…

 

“Oh dear God,” Jim breathed. “What the _fuck_?”

 

Glass from the main doors lay scattered across the lawns. In the middle of it all stood a dinosaur straight out of an encyclopaedia, teeth bared in the sunlight.

 

“And again I say: what the actual fuck? Tell me you see it too.” Because after six months boldly exploring the furthest reaches of space, Jim had gotten to the point where hallucinations and the attendant fuss by Starfleet were one hell of a lot scarier than twenty-foot lizards. Even thirty-foot lizards with really big teeth.

 

“Indeed. A particularly large specimen of Daspletosaurus.”

 

Jim glanced at Spock’s face – expressionless apart from one slightly quirked eyebrow – and felt a hysterical urge to laugh. “Of course there are dinosaurs on the loose. Of course there are. Because clearly crazy Vulcans are not enough – the universe hates us and wants to say it with dinosaurs!”

 

“Captain…”

 

“I mean, have the people running this place never _seen_ a horror flick? Jurassic Park and its umpteen billion sequels?”

 

“Captain, I would suggest -”

 

“And _shit,_ Bones is in there, and Uhura, and everybody else.” He turned to Spock. “We’ve got to find a way in.”

 

“Agreed, Captain. However, I doubt the efficiency of our phasers against such large life forms. Additionally, we will require a plan of action, should we be successful in gaining access to the main building.”

 

“If the Enterprise can handle a Klingon Warbird, a couple of lizards shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

“I would point out that dinosaurs were more closely related to birds than lizards--”

 

“And while that’s absolutely fascinating, it’s also something I’d rather discuss at a greater distance from the lizard-bird-thing in question.”

 

“Indeed. Though your plan seems unnecessarily destructive when the creatures are only acting according to their natures. They also represent a significant amount of work on the part of the Kitharan scientists.”

 

“ _So_ not the time for scientific scruples, Spock. And that Daspletosaurus is looking this way – I’m thinking we need to get inside and _then_ come up with our brilliant plan. On my mark, aim for that light by the big red flowers. Low phaser setting should do it. And mark!”

 

Under the energy beaming from Spock’s phaser, the light began to glow red-hot, then white, before exploding in a shower of brilliant sparks. The dinosaur’s head swung ponderously towards the noise. Jim blasted the next light along and the creature took a step towards it, head lowered and eyes fixed on the source of the disturbance.

 

Without the need for words, Spock demolished a third light and Jim took out a fourth. Across the flowerbeds that separated them from the dinosaur, Jim heard a snort, followed by a thunderous growl. Picking up speed, tearing up the plants in its path, the dinosaur set off in pursuit of its imagined prey.

 

Jim had no idea how long it would take the creature to work out what was going on, but he figured the way was clear enough now for them to make a break for the doors.

 

“C’mon,” he hissed to Spock, and took off through the flowerbeds, the crushed petals sending up a sickly sweet smell that made his eyes itch. Spock’s height gave him an advantage and he reached the main doors a few yards ahead of Jim, slipping carefully though the smashed frames to avoid the remaining splinters of glass.

 

The corridor was only half-lit – on its way out, the T-rex (whatever Spock said, that was what it looked like) had torn great gouges in the ceiling, ripping out most of the light fittings in the process – and Jim glanced about warily, not knowing how many more predatory ‘experiments’ were on the loose.

 

They proceeded at a half-run through the corridors, phasers at the ready. “I wanna try and get hold of Bones,” Jim explained. “But I don’t much like the idea of ending up as a dino’s dinner while I do.”

 

“One of the laboratories should provide a suitably defensible location,” Spock suggested.

 

Unwilling to slow down, Jim considered the idea on the move. “Montague said there were other labs that backed onto T’Kal’s valley, and I like the idea of having an escape route like that. I don’t _think_ those things are smart enough to figure out a pincer movement, though I’m counting on _nothing_ in this place.”

 

  

  1. “T’Kal’s lab was in the west arm of the building. We should take the next turn left.”     
  



 

Sure enough, they found T’Kal’s corridor, but the same emergency protocol that had set off the alarm had also locked down every door in the building.

 

“Don’t suppose you found the time to improve on this model too?” Jim asked, doing a terrible job of acting nonchalant.

 

“No, but the basic principles on which it operates are nearly identical to one on which I did improve.”  With a sharp motion, he smashed his radio into the doorframe. The plastic casing split and he pried it off to get at the components inside. “The technique lacks finesse,” he said almost apologetically.

 

“Not a problem.”

 

While Spock worked to build his lock pick, Jim stood guard, listening furiously for any sounds of approaching escapees. Finally, Spock stood up, a strange wire contraption in one hand. Mistaking Jim’s look of curiosity for one of disparagement, he said defensively, “It is only a crude approximation, given the time and resources available.”

 

“Spock, if it works, I couldn’t care less what it looks like. And ‘given the time and resources available’, I think it’s pretty damn impressive that you could build the thing at all.” Jim cut himself off, aware that if he said any more, he was most likely going to enter Embarrassingly Gushy, Are You Sure You’re Not A Teenage Girl? territory.

 

“Your confidence is appreciated,” Spock told him, fitting the contraption around the door’s access panel like a wire cage and hooking it up to the radio’s power cell. There was a moment of silence, then a soft click as the door swung open.

 

“Nice job, Mr Spock,” Jim said, grinning.

 

The lab didn’t open directly onto the valley like T’Kal’s had. Instead, there was a small room with stainless steel benches and a computer. Jim hopped up onto one of the benches and unclipped his radio.

 

“Hey, Bones? You getting this?”

 

The silence stretched. Jim drummed his heels against the bench supports and told himself to count to fifty before trying again. He’d gotten to thirty-seven when the radio crackled and he nearly dropped it.

 

“ _Jim, that you?”_

“Bones!” Jim’s voice cracked with relief. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s me. Where are you? Is Uhura there? What about Montague’s lot?”

 

“Can’t answer for Montague and co, but everyone from the Enterprise is here. We’re holed up in sickbay – I take it you noticed the dinosaurs?”

 

Jim laughed. “Yeah, might’ve caught a glimpse. You got any idea how they got out?”

 

“Nope. Soon as Montague got word what was going one, she hared off with a bunch of guys from Security. Haven’t heard a word from her since, and the med techs we’ve got with us don’t know any more than we do.”

 

“You know where they went?” If anyone knew how to deal with the escaped animals, it would surely be the people who’d created them, or so Jim reasoned.

 

 _“Sorry, Jim. Hey, hang on a sec.”_ There was a scuffle and Bones’s voice became muffled. Jim guessed that he’d put his hand over the speaker, as dictated by his strange ideas of common courtesy. After a moment, there was another scuffle and Bones said, _“Uhura says you can jury-rig the radios to find whatever frequency Montague’s on and track her location, but since I don’t understand half of what she’s telling me to tell you, I’m gonna let her tell you for herself.”_

## “Captain? Can you put Spock on for me?”

“Your lack of faith wounds me, Lieutenant,” Jim told her, but he handed the radio to Spock anyway and took over guarding the door. Behind him, he could hear the low murmur of the radio, occasionally broken by Spock asking a question. Then there was nothing but the quiet hum of the computer and when Jim looked, Spock was leaning over the workbench, carefully disassembling Jim’s radio.

 

Without looking up, he said, “Captain, any locating device I manage to construct will be, of necessity, inaccurate. It would help our search if you could find a map of the complex.”

 

“I’m on it.”

 

Jim headed for the computer terminal. The Kitharan system wasn’t anything like as secure as the one back at the Academy and in a few minutes, he’d managed to bypass enough of the security checks that the computer recognised his voice and gave him top level access.

 

“Computer, pull up a map of the complex with as much detail as you’ve got.”

 

“Working. Data loading, please wait.”

 

Jim flipped on the holographic projector and a 3D visual appeared on the blank wall.

 

“Identify present location.”

 

“You are in Room L-15-W. Location indicated by red arrow.”

 

“Computer, is it possible to produce a thermal image of the complex at the present time?”

 

“Affirmative. Scan will take approximately six point four minutes to complete.”

 

“Commence scanning. Actually, no, cancel. Computer, if the centre’s in lockdown, where could someone with Director Montague’s authority get to? Overlay area onto current map.”

 

“Working. In the event of lockdown, quarantine procedures are activated and connecting tunnels between domes are sealed. State origin of missing person.”

 

“This dome. The medical centre.”

 

A flood of red began to cover the dome on the map. Jim frowned at it. “What’s the area of this dome?”

 

“Approximately one point eight kilometres square.”

 

“Okay. Thermal scan of just this dome.”

 

“Working. Scan complete in forty-seven seconds” Jim caught himself tapping his fingers and stopped. “Scan complete.”

 

“Magnify and sharpen image.”

 

The image leapt into focus, sharp enough that Jim could pick out himself and Spock as separate heat sources.

 

“Overlay the thermal scan with the first map of the complex, labelling our current location, the medical centre, and the main entrance. Spock, how are you getting on with the radio?”

 

“It is almost complete. It will take a few minutes longer to identify the Director’s frequency if she is not using her radio, and then some time to locate her. I estimate no longer than nine point two minutes.”

 

Figuring he was only going to get in Spock’s way if he tried to help, Jim left the computer running while he turned his attention to the cupboards that lined the walls. He beamed fondly at the contents, remembering Chemistry classes spent ‘accidentally’ creating unstable compounds, so that the class had to be shepherded out while the teacher dealt with it. It had been a while, but maybe…

 

He wandered along the row, selecting a couple of bottles, four small cardboard boxes and a handful of test tubes with their stoppers. He looked up to find Spock watching him in slightly horrified fascination.

 

“May I ask what you intend to do with those chemicals, Captain?”

 

“Molotov cocktails,” Jim replied, grinning at Spock’s disapproving eyebrow. “Or something like that. I’ve made a few improvements.”

 

“Indeed?”

 

“Yeah. Bigger blast radius and less of a tendency to set the furniture on fire. Who says high school’s a waste of time?”

 

“I do not believe I have ever expressed that opinion,” Spock muttered, turning back to where the radio was hissing quietly.

 

Jim tipped a small quantity of yellowish powder into a test tube and smirked. He didn’t think even a ten-ton lizard would enjoy standing on one of these babies.

 

A short time later, the radio flared into life. _“…speaking. If you get this message, you are instructed to assemble at the medical centre. Security and Engineering Chiefs, assemble your teams and meet me at the central control room. Message repeats. All personnel, this is Director Montague speaking. If you get this message…”_

Jim looked at Spock. “Here we go then. Computer, locate central control room.”

 

A red arrow flashed up on the map. “Well, that’s just _stupid,_ ” Jim muttered. “Why would anyone think it was a good idea to stick a control centre in the middle of a valley full of dinosaurs?”

 

“Computer, is the control room connected to the main complex?” asked Spock.

 

“Affirmative. Schematic of subterranean tunnel system available.”

“Display, superimposed on current map.”

 

Like a network of veins, the tunnels system ran throughout the entire complex, with three tunnels leading to the control room.

 

“Fair enough,” Jim said, grinning. “Computer, locate nearest access point to tunnels.” Another red arrow appeared at the end of the corridor. “Copy final visual to data solid.”

 

There was a brief whirr and the computer spat out a dull grey square of memory plastic.

 

“Spock, you’ve still got your tricorder, right?”

 

“Naturally, Captain.” He unhooked it and passed it over. Jim fed in the data solid and watched as the map was reproduced, very much smaller, on the tricorder’s screen.

 

“And off we go.”

 

The ladder down to the tunnels was set into the wall of a narrow drill shaft. Jim sincerely hoped it was too small for any of the animals to get down – the idea of being trapped underground with Dawn or the dinosaur from outside wasn’t one he was particularly fond of. The tunnels were lit with greenish emergency strip-lighting that flickered into life as they approached and then flicked off once they’d passed, giving the unnerving impression that they were walking in their own bubble of light. Jim supposed it was all very energy efficient, but he didn’t much like only being able to see ten feet ahead or behind.

 

It was unsettlingly silent in the tunnel. Even their footsteps were inaudible on the solid rock of the floor. It made Jim want to shout, if only to have some evidence that they were really there.

 

Another light turned on ahead of them, illuminating a steel door set into the rock itself. Spock moved silently past Jim, untangling his lock pick and spreading it over the access panel. The door opened with a screech, unnaturally loud in the still air.

 

Once through the door, Spock turned to Jim. “Captain, I can make out light ahead, yet according to the map, we are still half a kilometre from the control room.”

 

Jim peered into the darkness. Spock’s eyesight had to be a lot better than his to make out any light, but he didn’t doubt that it was there. “Maybe one of the emergency lights has a faulty circuit?” he suggested.

 

“It is possible,” Spock agreed, but he drew his phaser and Jim followed suit.

 

They’d gone perhaps another twenty metres before Jim could see the light too. He could tell why Spock had drawn his phaser – it didn’t look like the green emergency lighting. If anything, it looked like daylight.

 

“Cave-in?” he murmured, moving forward in slow, stealthy steps.

 

Spock nodded. “If this tunnel is not used frequently, it may be of some age.”

 

“And then again, it may not be.” Jim narrowed his eyes against the dark. Was that movement?

 

Spock saw it at the same time as Jim. Without warning, he grabbed Jim’s elbow and pushed him back into the tunnel wall, flattening himself alongside.

 

“There is a creature up ahead,” he said, voice so low Jim had to strain to hear him. “I would theorise it is trapped or incapacitated in some way as it has not yet reacted to our approach.”

 

Jim nodded silently, resettling his grip on his phaser. They edged along the wall until their bubble of light encompassed the creature too. Jim swallowed. From the cliff in T’Kal’s valley, the sehlat had looked about the size of large wolves. Up close, this one stood head and shoulders above Spock.

 

Spock, who didn’t seem at all put off by the smell of meat gone bad than was coming from the sehlat, but was moving towards it with careful, fluid motions that reminded Jim of horse trainers he’d seen with nervous colts. And the sehlat tolerated his approach, lowering its head to give him a baleful look.

 

“It is wounded,” he said quietly, stepping in so close that his head was mere inches from the creature’s fangs. Were they really green, Jim found himself wondering, or was that just a trick of the light?

 

Spock lifted a hand to the sehlat’s neck; it came away coated in thick blood, the colour of mud.

 

“It must have fallen down here when the roof caved in,” he said. “There is a deep wound to the top of its head, most likely caused by the falling rubble. I do not know how long it has been down here, but I believe it is dying.”

 

“Can we do anything for it?” Jim asked, stepping forwards. The sehlat snorted suspiciously, but let him approach.

 

“Only hasten its demise. I will do it.”

 

He climbed a little way up the rubble that surrounded the sehlat and pressed his phaser into the thick fur at the base of its skull. The smell of rotting meat became mingled with one of burning and the sehlat slumped forwards.

 

“The tunnel is passable on the other side of the sehlat,” Spock called down.

 

Jim scrambled up to join him, avoiding the sehlat’s dark, glassy stare. “Where?”

 

Spock indicated a narrow gap between the top of the rock fall and the tunnel roof. Jim snorted. “Passable, my ass.”

 

“It is of an adequate size to admit us, if we remove all extraneous items.” He passed Jim his phaser and lock pick, unslung his tricorder and pushed himself headfirst into the gap. Jim waited for his face to appear on the other side, then passed him the equipment and slid through himself. He suspected he didn’t do half such an elegant job of it as Spock, and privately swore not to protest the next time Bones pushed vegetables at him.

 

They headed on up the tunnel with no more interruptions. Soon, they reached the door to the main control room. Spock’s lock pick worked its magic and they were inside, standing on a platform above the main room.

 

“Good of you to join us, Captain,” Montague said dryly. A roomful of people looked up at the pair of them. Jim resisted the urge to wave. “We’re about to start the security program; you’re just in time.”

 

“‘In time’? What for?”

 

“Well, a few minutes more and the sedative gas would have already filled the tunnels. It’s quite a high concentration – I think it takes forty-five seconds from first release to knock out a human. Rather longer for some of our escapees, of course.”

 

“You intend to flood the whole dome?” Spock said sharply.

 

“The whole complex, Mr Spock. The communications centre’s in such a state, we don’t have enough contact with the other domes to know what’s going on there, so you’ll forgive us if we’re a bit overcautious. If you’re worried about your colleagues, don’t be – we’ve done a lot of trials with this stuff and there’re absolutely no long-term effects.”

 

“Your fingerprint, Director,” murmured a young man with ENG stamped on the pocket of his overalls.

 

Montague nodded, pressing her forefinger into the spongy blue pad next to her computer.

 

“Program initialising. Activation in twenty seconds.”

 

“I’m guessing we’re not going to get gassed in here?” Jim said.

 

Montague smiled at him. “Of course not. We’ll wait half an hour for the sedatives to kick in, then pump in new air and go out to retrieve the animals.”

 

When the all-clear sounded, Jim found himself, along with Spock, conscripted into one of the clean-up teams.

 

“You do know we don’t have a clue how you go about manhandling a dinosaur, right?” he said to one of the Engineering women.

 

“Neither do we. I think Security might have gotten a little training in it, but we’re learning on the job. Here. Anti-grav clamps and rope. We’re so hi-tech, you wouldn’t believe it.”

 

They found their first escapee slumped on its side in thick lakeside mud. Jim looked dubiously at his clamps. No one had mentioned any way of attaching them to the animals.

 

“Suggestions, gentlemen?” Jim’s engineer said briskly.

 

“Tie ‘em on?”

 

“Worth a shot.”

 

With clamps on its paws and three more tied round its middle for good measure, the recaptured Argellian swamprat drifted behind the group like a bizarre party balloon. They towed it back to its enclosure and the engineers set up temporary forcefields where the main ones had shorted out.

 

“That’s not natural damage,” one said, shaking his head.

 

Jim looked round at him. “How can you tell?”

 

“You mean apart from the fact that there must be a dozen identical ‘accidents’ all over the complex? Just an engineer’s sixth sense, I guess. But look, you see where it was connected to the main power grid? The couplings are all charred. I’d say that’s happened because someone deliberately overloaded it.”

 

“Oh, hell. I bet I know who it was, too.”

 

“The Ambassador.” Spock stepped up beside him, casting an expert eye over the power couplings. “I concur with the engineer’s assessment; this was sabotage.”

 

“Which means Suvat’s not nice and safe and unconscious after all. Well,” Jim corrected himself. “He will be now. But he wasn’t then. We are _getting_ him for this. Is there any way to prove this was deliberate damage?”

 

“Well, yeah, like I say, if it’s happened exactly the same on all the forcefields, you’re not gonna find an engineer alive who’d call that natural damage.”

 

“Okay, good. Can you find out for me?” Jim was already running, Spock keeping pace alongside.

 

“He was last seen in the medical centre.”

 

“You think we’ll be able to track him from there?”

 

“It is doubtful, but we have little choice.”

 

The carpeted corridors swallowed their footsteps as they tore down one after another.

 

“Lookin’ for someone?”

 

Jim twisted to see who’d spoken and veered straight into a wall. He rubbed his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at the newcomer.

 

“Why aren’t you unconscious?”

 

“Oh, charming.” Bones scowled at him, but gave it up when Jim reached forward to wrap him in a hug. “Since you didn’t actually manage to get yourself killed by dinosaurs, I guess I should congratulate you,” he said when Jim released him. “You too, Spock.”

 

Spock inclined his head. “Since you appear impervious to sedative gas, I believe I should do likewise.”

 

Bones shrugged. “Well, if you _will_ lock a guy up with oxygen canisters, you can’t expect him not to use ‘em, right?”

 

“Most ingenious.”

 

“So help me, if that’s surprise in your voice, you’re waiting outside.”

 

“Of course not, Doctor. I am curious, though. What, precisely, would I be waiting outside of?”

 

Bones grinned at him. “Got a present for you, back in sickbay. Me and Uhura picked it out ourselves. Didn’t have time to wrap it, but I promise it’s stunning. Or stunned, if you want to get grammatical.”

 

“Oh, you didn’t.”

 

“Oh, I did.”

 

He pushed open the door to the medical centre. Uhura waved at them from her perch on a biobed, her phaser never leaving the figure in the next bed along.

 

“Where did you…?”

 

“Sneaking back into bed, as it happens. God knows how he got out of it the first time round – the Vulcan constitution’s a tricky thing and he shrugged off that phaser shot of yours like nothing, but I swear to God, we were watching him the whole time. Anyway, he tried to make a break for it when the all-clear sounded just now – got as far as clobbering one of the med techs before Uhura shot him again. After that, we figured it was best to keep him under sedation. And here he is.”

 

“You wouldn’t believe how much I love the two of you right now,” Jim said. “We think we’ve got evidence that he let the animals out.”

 

“More accurately, we have evidence that _someone_ deliberately sabotaged the enclosures and now your evidence that the Ambassador was missing at the time,” Spock added.

 

“Well, I’ll be… And after what he did to T’Kal…”

 

“Has she regained consciousness yet, Doctor?”

 

Bones bit his lip. “Yes, a few hours ago, but I wouldn’t say she’s recovered. I- Well, frankly, you Vulcans are so tight-lipped about just about everything that I can’t say for sure what’s wrong with her. See for yourself.”

 

He led them down to the far end of the ward, stopping a discreet distance from T’Kal’s bed. “She’ll answer questions now, but she’s still avoiding all eye contact and she won’t eat.”

 

V’Lir rose from her seat at T’Kal’s side at their approach. “T’Mara is meditating before making another attempt to reach T’Kal’s mind, Doctor.”

 

“No luck so far, then?”

 

“T’Mara is of the opinion that T’Kal’s mind is perfectly intact, but has thrown up mental shields of considerable strength in response to Suvat’s attack. The energy needed to maintain the shields is sapping her physical strength. If she cannot be persuaded to lower her defences, she may begin using the energy required for vital functions.”

 

“‘Vital functions’ meaning breathing and suchlike?”

 

V’Lir nodded expressionlessly. Bones swore. “I don’t care if it’s all a Vulcan coping mechanism, Jim, that sonofabitch isn’t getting away with this.”

 

“‘Vulcan coping mechanism’?” V’Lir said, looking ever so slightly shocked. “I assure you, Doctor, that Vulcan grief does not manifest itself in attacks on the innocent. There is no possible defence for Suvat’s crime.”

 

Bones smiled grimly. “Sometimes I really feel like I could get to like you Vulcans.”

 

T’Mara returned after half an hour and shooed them away – very politely, of course. They congregated around Suvat’s bed and watched anxiously as the healer sank into a meld with T’Kal.

 

“If T’Mara can’t do anything for her, there must be healers in the colony that can,” Jim said thoughtfully. “The Enterprise could take her. We’re going to have to take Suvat and his team back anyway, and I hardly think ‘Fleet Command’s going to object.”

 

“Captain, I would prefer it if you did not refer to us as ‘Suvat’s team’,” V’Lir interjected, a hint of disgust in her voice.

 

“Of course not. Sorry,” Jim said, inwardly marvelling at how near she’d come to expressing genuine emotion over it. _Forced melding is considered one of the worst crimes a Vulcan can commit. No shit,_ he thought. “But in a worst-case scenario, we could keep T’Kal in stasis for the journey, right, Bones?”

 

“We could, though I’d rather not – stasis can do funny things to muscle tissue if you keep it up too long.”

 

“There will certainly be healers with more training than T’Mara in the colony,” V’Lir said. “She has only been studying the practice for a Standard year. Her parents wish her to focus on her diplomatic career, but her bondmate is a mindhealer on the First Colony and has been teaching her in secret. They are very young,” she added.

 

“Vulcan teenage rebels,” Jim said, looking sideways at Spock. “I love it.”

 

“If T’Mara has a talent for healing, logic dictates she use it,” Spock said neutrally.

 

“Of course.” V’Lir nodded fractionally. “I intended no criticism.”

 

“If you don’t mind me saying so, you know an awful lot about what T’Mara’s been getting up to, V’Lir.”

 

“Naturally, Doctor,” she said, glancing over to T’Kal’s bed. “She is my—cousin, would, I think, be the closest Terran approximation, and as we now work together, I am in the… enviable position of being her confidante.”

 

Jim smiled to himself. So Spock wasn’t the only Vulcan to have mastered sarcasm. _Fascinating._

 

Uhura laughed and said, “That’s exactly what I used to do at the Academy. My first semester there, I had a cousin – a distant one, but ‘close-knit’ doesn’t even begin to describe how obsessive my family is about keeping in touch. Anyway, my cousin was teaching some modules as part of her post-grad degree. I doubt my roommate even saw me the first week; I was so busy telling Jenny how exciting everything was. She must have wanted to strangle me.”

 

V’Lir looked a little confused. “Surely Terrans are not so easily moved to cause physical harm?”

 

“An expression. Like in Vulcan, you might say _nah-tor ish-veh le-matya-kahkwa_ , but you wouldn’t actually mean it.”

 

V’Lir raised an eyebrow. “I have not heard that particular phrase in half a century, Lieutenant. Where did you hear it?”

 

Uhura smiled. “I read a lot. And I did my dissertation on imagery in Vulcan literature.”

 

“Your accent is most passable.”

 

“Thank you. I had a good teacher.”

 

V’Lir caught the conspiratorial glance between Uhura and Spock and her eyebrow rose higher. “Indeed. I was under the impression Commander Spock had only taught classes in computer sciences. Clearly, I was mistaken.”

 

Spock cleared his throat in an almost human display of nerves. “Upon learning I was the only native speaker of Vulcan at the Academy, the Lieutenant sought me out for private lessons.”

 

Jim could almost see the thought pass through Bones’s mind: _So that’s what they’re calling it these days._ He looked away quickly to keep from laughing; Spock was looking uncomfortable enough under V’Lir’s scrutiny.

 

If V’Lir picked up on all of this, she wasn’t letting on. She nodded politely at Uhura, lips softened in what Jim was beginning to recognise as a Vulcan smile. “You are to be commended on your dedication then.” She shut her eyes briefly. When she reopened them, she said, “If you will excuse me, Skor informs me that the board of directors will be meeting shortly. My presence is requested, along with that of Captain Kirk. Thank you, Lieutenant, for a most interesting conversation. Doctor McCoy, I wish you all success with your patient. Commander Spock--”

 

“I will be accompanying the captain,” Spock said firmly.

 

“Of course.”

 

“You know, I actually did take whole courses on trade agreements,” Jim said quietly as they followed her from the room.

 

“I do not doubt your ability, Captain. I merely think it unwise for you to be the sole representative of Starfleet’s interests at the meeting.”

 

“Oh, of course,” Jim agreed. “And it has absolutely nothing to do with you wanting to protect me from the nasty, scary bureaucrats.”

 

“Given the creatures we have already faced down today, I do not think that will be an issue,” Spock said dryly.

 

“Oh, I dunno,” Jim murmured as the boardroom doors slid open and a tableful of flinty-eyed directors looked up at them. “I think I preferred the dinosaurs.”

 

Behind him, Spock muttered something that might have been, “Incorrigible.”

 

~

 

“I think that could have gone a lot worse than it did,” Jim announced, dropping into a chair back in the medical centre.

 

“I agree,” said Spock, which Jim had sort of known, in spite of him and V’Lir attempting to outdo each other in feats of expressionlessness all through the meeting.

 

Bones looked up from running a tricorder over Suvat. “They agreed then?”

 

“Oh yeah. There was a lot of guff about the importance of Vulcan’s standing in the Federation and the benefits of contracting work with such a well-respected organisation, but it basically boiled down to ‘give us lots of money and please take your crazy Vulcan home with you’. Which, let me tell you, we were only too happy to agree to. They’re demanding compensation for all the damage Suvat’s caused, of course, but V’Lir reckons she can talk them round on that.” He shrugged. “So, yeah, could’ve gone a lot worse. And I’m pretty sure our orders contained the words ‘at any cost’, so I don’t think the Federation’s too fussed about the money.”

 

“It is as well they are not,” V’Lir commented, “as the sum demanded is exorbitant. Additionally, I am not as confident that the Kitharans will be persuaded to waive their claims to compensation as Captain Kirk suggests.”

 

“Oh, come on! They can’t expect the Federation to be responsible for the actions of every single member of every single species, surely?”

 

“Such an attitude would not surprise me, Doctor.”

 

Bones snorted. “Talk about illogical. Anyway, Jim, I’m not sure if we’re meant to be happy about this or not, but Suvat’s in perfect health, apart from being unconscious, and I’d recommend keeping him out of it until we’ve got him safely onto the Enterprise.”

 

“Advice noted. And T’Kal?”

 

He shrugged unhappily. “No improvement physically, least not so far as I can make out, but T’Mara seemed hopeful the last time I saw her. I don’t like having to rely on someone else to diagnose my patients, but it’s not like I’ve got a choice, is it?”

 

“Sorry, Bones. But she’ll be okay for the journey to New Vulcan?”

 

“‘Okay’ might be stretching it a bit, but at least I’ll have all my equipment back on the ship. And T’Mara’s coming with us, so it’ll be no worse than keeping her here.”

 

Jim nodded. “Right. Well, Director Montague has given us use of a shuttle, and I don’t think there’s anything to be gained from sticking around. The Federation can find another ship to play messenger-boy if they want to argue the toss with the Kitharans.”

 

“Actually, Captain, I’ve been thinking about that,” Uhura said. “This system isn’t the only place where conventional subspace won’t work, and we’ve already established that it’s possible to get a message to a ship in orbit outside the planet’s atmosphere. The Enterprise was basically acting as a relay station, so why not set up an actual relay satellite? Sure, it’ll cost a bit, but it’s nothing compared to the cost of sending a courier ship out here every time the High Council wants a progress report.”

 

“Such devices have been used in other systems with some success,” Spock put in.

 

“It sounds perfect. Why they don’t already have one…”

 

“I believe the Kitharans thought that they could avoid Federation scrutiny by keeping themselves beyond the reach of communication.”

 

“But now they’re actively working for the Federation, they shouldn’t have any objections.” Jim nodded decisively. “Awesome. I’ll include a recommendation with my report. Now, who’s ready to get off this crazy planet?”

 

“Me,” said Bones with feeling.

 

~

 

As usual after a long period away from his ship, Jim was compensating by utterly refusing to give up his shift to a deputy. Spock’s hints that he really should get some rest after such a protracted away mission were becoming increasingly unsubtle, and when he eventually roped in Bones to insist as Chief Medical Officer that Jim should sleep right now, or he, Bones, would personally sedate him in front of the entire alpha shift if he had to, Jim conceded defeat.

 

“But if you two are starting to gang up on me, how can you expect me to sleep?” he complained as he headed for the turbolift. “It’s clearly the sign of the impending apocalypse.”

 

“Such an illogical supposition only demonstrates further your need for sleep, Captain,” Spock said firmly, doing a very good job of chivvying Jim along without actually going near him.

 

“Fine, fine. But don’t think I haven’t noticed that _you’re_ not getting any sleep either, Spock. Yeah, ‘Vulcans require less sleep than humans,’ yada yada, but I’m _watching_ you.”

 

“Yes, Captain,” Spock said patiently.

 

Jim decided discretion was the better part of valour in the face of such insubordination, and retreated into the turbolift. He didn’t have any intention of sleeping. Instead, he headed down to the engine rooms to check on his girl after being parted from her for so long.

 

A startled Engineering ensign jumped up at his approach, making a half-hearted attempt to conceal whatever not-strictly-Starfleet-approved modifications Scotty had him working on.

 

Jim said, “I appear to have become temporarily blind and have absolutely no idea what you’re doing down there. Unless it saves all our asses, in which case I want all the details.”

 

The ensign nodded dumbly, then said, “I’m sorry, sir, if you can’t see I should tell you that I just nodded.”

 

Jim grinned at him. “That’s the spirit. Now, where’s Scotty?”

 

“In the main reactor room, sir.”

 

Jim waved him back to work and shinned up the ladder to the gallery that led to the reactor room. At the sound of his footsteps on the metal, Scotty’s head emerged from under a computer bench.

 

“Hey, Scotty. How’s our girl doing?”

 

“Sweet as can be, sir. Those mods that I definitely didnae make to the relay coils are paying off. Just a bit of normal wear and tear from hopping orbits like that, and I’ll have that fixed up by end of shift. Ooh, an’ I should warn ye that some of the systems might be a wee bit… temperamental tomorrow, round about the start of gamma shift. Nothing vital, but young Hrann wanted to try some tinkering with the food slot circuits.”

 

“Is this something I know about? By which I mean, did you file a request with Spock?”

 

“Oh yes, sir,” Scotty said, looking hurt. “It’s all perfectly official. And when it all goes wrong, it’ll give my boys and girls some valuable on-the-job training, and ye know how keen Starfleet is on that.”

 

“How wrong are we talking here?”

 

“Mebbe a few people’ll get a wee bit more for breakfast than they expected, but that’s about it. See, Hrann seems to think he can reroute the pattern-replicator circuits through the auxiliary power system, and I happen to know for a fact that ye can’t, but ye have to let them learn for themselves sometimes.”

 

“Well, if Spock’s happy, I’m happy,” Jim told him.

 

Scotty smirked. “Aye, sir.”

 

~

 

Somewhat to Spock’s surprise, after his visit to Engineering, which was only to be expected, the captain did in fact sleep. Tracking the captain’s position was, in the circumstances, a perfectly logical course of action, as he attempted to explain to Doctor McCoy in the face of the doctor’s unreasonable amusement.

 

“Face it, Spock, you worry about him just as much as I do.”

 

“The human impulse to anxiety about situations which they cannot influence is not one I share,” Spock told him.

 

McCoy snorted. “Of course you don’t. And I’m a monkey’s uncle.”

 

“As I understand it, the human race does, in fact, share a common ancestor with modern apes. Therefore your statement is perfectly factual, for a sufficiently loose definition of ‘uncle’.”

 

“And if you’re willing to use loose definitions to prove your point, I _know_ there’s something up.”

 

“The ship’s artificial gravity -”

 

“Can it, Spock. Jim might find it cute, but I’m not Jim.”

 

“A fact for which the universe at large is no doubt thankful, Doctor.”

 

McCoy chuckled at that. “True enough. I don’t think the galaxy could handle two Jim Kirks in existence.”

 

Spock thought briefly of an encounter in the Starfleet shuttleport, just after Nero’s defeat. He had not asked at the time, but suppose it had been the alternate timeline’s Jim Kirk who ended up in this universe? Would it have been Earth that stood destroyed by Nero’s fury? Spock tried not to devote excessive time to thinking about the implications of existing in a version of another universe’s story, but he could not deny that the concept was…intriguing.

 

He had been silent for too long; McCoy was looking at him in concern. “It’s okay to worry about him, you know. God knows, someone needs to, and he certainly doesn’t.”

 

“Doctor, if this is an attempt to coerce me into admitting to such an illogical impulse, consider it unsuccessful.”

 

McCoy eyed him speculatively. “I wouldn’t say that, Spock. But, hey, if it makes you happier to play pretend, I won’t stop you.”

 

“‘Happiness’ is not a state to which I aspire.”

 

“Yeah, sure. Now get out of here and get some sleep, or I’ll set Uhura on you.”

 

Spock left, reflecting on the curious balance of power that existed on the ship.

 

~

 

Jim woke to find a message from New Vulcan waiting on his computer.

 

“ _Finally,”_ he muttered, clicking it open.

 

The communication was brief: yes, Ambassador Suvat had lost a bondmate, but several years prior to the destruction of Vulcan. To his surprise, it didn’t contain the level of disapproval that he’d have expected from Sarek with such a personal query. He made a note to congratulate whoever had worded the message – Uhura? – on a job well done.

 

Spock would probably be interested in what his father had to say, Jim thought, ignoring the traitorous voice whispering that, as excuses to call on his first officer went, this one was pretty pathetic; for all he knew, Spock had forwarded the message to him in the first place.

 

As it turned out, Spock _was_ interested. His face adopted the look that meant his brain was ticking over new conclusions – an adorably lopsided look, because one eyebrow went up along with the corresponding corner of his mouth. Jim looked away quickly.

 

Eventually, Spock broke to silence to say, “We received a transmission from Starfleet Command while you slept.  The Ambassador is due to be tried three days from now on New Vulcan.”

 

Jim couldn’t conceal his surprise. “I thought you said he’d get a Federation trial.”

 

“It was always a possibility that the High Council would intervene,” Spock admitted. “I did not wish to think that Vulcan pride would win out over Vulcan integrity, but such appears to be the case. No doubt by keeping the trial a strictly internal affair, the High Council hopes to keep the shameful details of Suvat’s crime from becoming public knowledge. I doubt they will succeed.”

 

The bitterness in Spock’s voice made Jim hesitate, but he pressed on anyway. “And Sarek kind of hinted that they wanted to have a report from you, as well as from me.”

 

“Why, Captain?”

 

“Due to my ‘imperfect grasp of Vulcan culture’ was how he phrased it, I think, but what he meant was that the High Council doesn’t trust me not to go getting icky emotions in there.”

 

“I… see. Yet they would trust me not to do so. An interesting reversal.”

 

“Well, see, there was that little incident where you risked your life to save the Councillors. I think they pretty much have to trust you after that.”

 

Spock was silent for a minute. Then he said quietly, “I do not believe I have ever thanked you for the trust you repose in me, Capt- Jim.”

 

Jim could feel himself flushing. “You don’t need to thank me for that,” he managed.

 

“On the contrary, I understand that clear communication is a key component in any command dynamic.”

 

Which Jim thought was bullshit, because they were a damn good command team without getting, well, icky emotions into it. Still, he could guess that however embarrassed he was here, Spock had to be ten times more so.

 

So he said, “Um… thank you. I, uh, I appreciate it,” and stared fiercely at the wall behind Spock because while some people might be good at talking about their feelings, Jim Kirk wasn’t one of them.

 

But apparently the ordeal wasn’t over yet as Spock continued, “In the interests of full disclosure, I should inform you that I am unbonded, having severed ties with my former partner before departing Vulcan for Earth.”

 

“That’s good to know,” Jim said weakly. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

 

“Because you wished to know on Beta Kithara, though you did not ask. Additionally, I understand it is customary to make it clear one has no prior attachments before attempting to pursue a romantic relationship.”

 

Jim’s head shot up. “Say _what_ now?”

 

“A romantic relationship.”

 

“And you decided to wait until _after_ the mission where I basically blackmailed you into revealing state secrets to tell me this?”

 

“I was attempting to find a moment when any potential… consequences would not be detrimental to the future of the galaxy,” Spock told him in the clipped, precise voice that meant he was seriously regretting saying anything at all.

 

“ _Fuck_ consequences,” Jim said, with a vehemence that surprised him.

 

Spock seemed to relax slightly. “May I take that as your being amenable to such a change in our relationship?”

 

Jim stepped forward and grabbed Spock’s wrists. “Damn straight, I’m amenable,” he said, and kissed him.

 

“Well. That went well,” he muttered a second later, pulling away and rubbing his nose.

 

“There is a human aphorism I believe would be apt in this situation,” Spock said.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“‘If at first you don’t succeed -’”

 

“‘Try try try again’?”

 

“Precisely.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> nah-tor ish-veh le-matya-kahkwa: He thinks like a le-matya.
> 
> Note: I did use the Vulcan Language Dictionary for this, but I'm fairly sure my grammar's horrible, so anyone who actually does know Vulcan, feel free to correct me.


End file.
